


Born to Chaos (my home is you)

by Areiton



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: (Seriously just stay with me here), Angst, Bonding, Character Death, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Psychological Torture, Suicide, T'hy'la, T'hy'la Big Bang, Tarsus IV, Torture, Unconventional Happy Ending, Vulcan hoodoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 07:24:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11352660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He was born among the stars and chaos and that’s the only place that will ever feel like home.Jim has never had a home--not on earth, not on Tarsus, not even with his family--not until the Enterprise, and Spock. But when he's grounded for six months, and Spock is too angry to speak to him--where is home?He always knew he belonged among the stars until a Vulcan came along and changed everything--and he isn't sure how he's supposed to go home from here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for T'hy'la Big Bang 2017.  
> The gorgeous art was created by flavie.  
> Catchclaw did a lovely (and super amazingly helpful) beta for me. 
> 
> One note: This is has a HEA. But just like all good things--(hopefully good)--you have to earn it. Pay attention to the tags. <3 
> 
> I hope you love this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it! <3

**Part I. An Empty House**.

 

The house is on the edge of the desert.

It is small--Uhura calls it cozy--with a library and a room for Jim to tinker in. A brightly lit room reserved for Spock to conduct his experiments. A small, pristine kitchen that Jim refuses to have a replicator in, and a spacious living room that faces the wild desert and the open sky.

There is, also, two guest bedrooms--one for their crew and one for Leonard who swears he won’t visit because New Vulcan is just as hot as Vulcan That Was and _I get enough of you two sappy bastards up here, thanks_. On the second floor, there is a room dominated by the big bed and more windows that look into the night sky.

It’s a cozy little home, built specifically for the bonded pair that owns it, a gift from Sarek and the House of Surak.

Jim, when he thinks of home--a home that is planetside and not the _Enterprise,_ because she is his first home, and always will be--he thinks of a little house on New Vulcan, on the edge of the desert, that faces the night sky and has room for their family to visit. When he asks Spock, _where is home, to you?_ Spock gives him a patient stare, his head tilted, just a little, the look Jim privately ( _it is not private, ashayam, we are bonded)_ calls his ‘my perplexing human is being perplexing again’ look.

_Home is with you, Jim._

Jim always kinda laughs at that, goes soft around the edges, so fucking full of love and warmth that he forgets for a second, living anywhere but here, with the ship humming around him and their crew busy beyond the door of their shared quarters.

He forgets that one day, they can have more than a small bed and alarms in the middle of the night, fucking quick and rough after an away mission that (always) goes  wrong.

Because home is the _Enterprise_ and his crew, Bones’ grumpy humor and ill temper, and the Vulcan who watches him with warm, patient eyes.

He’s never wanted more than what he has, right now.

Still.

Sometimes, when he is woken for the third night in a row by a screaming alarm and a cursing engineer and a sneering Klingon--sometimes he let’s himself think about it.

About a house that is bright and cozy and sits on the edge of the desert, balanced between the wild and New ShiKahr.

He lets himself dream of a place that they call home.

There is a house on the edge of the desert, a house that was built with a very special bonded pair in mind, carefully planned for their eccentricities and choices, and calmly presented at their bonding ceremony.

It has never been lived in.

 

~*~

 

They arrive on New Vulcan in the middle of the night while the city sleeps, and make their way through the city without any fanfare. Jim is privately glad that they got in so late--they aren’t being pestered with questions and requests for their honored presence and all the other shit that really isn’t logical from _Vulcans_ of all fucking species, but it happens.

Every time they land on a planet, it happens.

Spock drifts ahead of them, his back stiff and straight and angry, while Bones navigates the hoverchair for Jim.

Six months. Starfleet took one look at his record logs after the shitshow that was Aueceri VI and ordered him on medical leave for six _months._ He got to keep Bones because his CMO threw a fit loud and long enough that even the Admiralty couldn’t ignore it --and those bastard could ignore Rome burning to listen to Nero fiddle.

While a medical leave didn’t usually extend to his command team, Starfleet didn’t complain when Spock and Bones both announced they’d be going with him. They gave him Spock because they were bonded and Spock could--and would--throw every regulation in the book back at them to stay at Jim’s side. He had accumulated leave time. They’d been on two five year missions, were a year into their third. Even with a year between each five year mission--most of which was spent teaching at the Academy and being trotted out like the poster boys of the ‘fleet--Spock had leave time due, and here he was at Jim’s side, with barely any protest from the brass.

The door to the house is closed, but as Bones navigates him inside, he gets a look around, at the wide open space, the walls a pleasing sandstone shade, the way the hall seems to curve giving him the faintest sense of home. The living area is a big open room, with a low couch and free standing chair, and a view of the desert sprawled just outside.

Sarek sent someone. It’s been cleaned, dust swept away and aired out. The sheer curtains billow in a light breeze, ghostly clouds.

“You want anything, kid?”

Jim shakes his head. “Nah. Too tired.”

All he wants is to sleep. Curl up in Spock’s embrace, and sleep until he forgets everything that happened on Aueceri VI and Spock forgets that he’s pissed at Jim.

Of course, he doesn’t get that. Why the hell should he?  

Bones fusses over him for a while, pokes and prods at his legs for even longer, until Jim’s temper snaps and he snarls at the doctor.

After almost twenty years of friendship and patching Jim back together, Bones is very aware of how Jim gets bitchy when he’s hurt. He’ll apologize in the morning, after he’s had some sleep and time to adjust to being dirtside again. For tonight, both of them are willing to retreat, to give each other the time and space they have learned is necessary.

Bones helps him to bed--Spock vanished into the library without a word, meditating Jim thinks fuzzily--and brushes Jim’s hair back as he asks, “You good here?”

“Yeah, Bones,” he summons a smile that doesn’t feel forced--just tired. It makes the frown around Bone’s mouth relax a little and he squeezes Jim’s shoulder before he retreats.

The silence of the house is almost suffocating. There is no pleasant, familiar hum of the ship’s engines, not quiet murmur of the crew in the halls. No chirps from an alarm or communique from Starfleet.

Just silence. The sound of his heart, beating too loud in his chest, and the low whistle of the wind.

Spock, when he comes to bed, moves quietly, and Jim almost whines in relief as his Vulcan slides into bed, and lays, close but not quite touching. He’s radiating heat and hurt and Jim doesn’t know how to fix this.

He’s said he’s sorry. So many times.

_Please, just talk to me, Spock. Tell me how to fix this._

The Vulcan doesn’t answer him. But he doesn’t pull away, either, when Jim curls closer, pressing along that warmth.

This, at least, is familiar. The sound of Spock’s breathing and the pulse of his heart, and the warm electric static of their bond, a familiar melody that lulls him to sleep.

 

~*~

 

He wakes up alone, the same as every morning since Aueceri VI. For a moment his heart drops and fear slides over him and, “Spock?”

The sheets are cool to the touch--how long has Spock been up?

He can hear them, puttering around downstairs and he relaxes against the pillows, some of that strange fear easing.

It’s been a month since Aueceri and he still can’t breath deep without wincing.

Spock still won’t stay in the same room with him for more than five minutes.

Oh, he comes to bed, and his mind will find Kirk’s because he’s angry but in ten years of being bonded, he’s never closed the bond between them. It’s a quiet pulsing thing in his mind, even when Spock stubbornly refused to come to him.

He’s _tired._  

They’ve spent eleven years in space, almost fifteen years together, and he’s dreamt of this--of when they’d hang up their boots, leave the stars behind. It’s what he’s never wanted and what he’s always wanted, and now they have it. For six months, they’ve got normal life, here where he’s wanted for so many years to be, and Spock is so angry and Jim has no idea how to reach him.

He has no idea how they got _here_.

The thing is--he knows that everything has a consequence. He’s lived with them his whole life. You don’t grow up a delinquent and still turn out to be the youngest captain in the ‘Fleet without figuring out that for every action there is a consequence and a price.

He knew what he did on Aueceri came with consequences.

It’s just--for the first time in a very long time, he’s wondering if what it costs is worth everything he’s paid.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II. Blood Soaked Fields.**

 

The first time he realized something was wrong--it was already too late.

 

~*~

 

He wanted to go.

That's what he tried to tell himself, as he sat on the stone ground and stared at the guard, dying in front of him. There was blood splattered on his pant legs, and the purple spores that made Jim itch to run.

He didn't though. He sat a few feet away--far enough the blood seeping slowly across the cave floor didn't touch him--and watched. Remembered he  _ wanted  _ to come here.

 

~*~

 

“It's a farming colony,” Frank said, dripping disdain and Winona shrugged.

“I wanna go,” Jim insisted, glaring briefly at his uncle, his hands curled in fists.

Winona slid a look at Frank. “Might make it easier for you--I’ve got orders for about the time he’d need to leave.

Frank frowned, and if he wasn’t so damn intent on getting what he wanted, Jim probably would have frowned too. Mom going back out to the black was worth a frown. Especially since she promised-- _ swore _ \--after the last mission, she’d take a planetside commission, would keep her feet on the earth.

Sam was gone now and he was alone with Frank and he got that she was needed out there--but she forgot he needed her  _ here. _

“Fine. If it’s what you want, Win. But you better warn his damn uncle.”

She grinned and Jim ate the rest of his dinner--two juicy pieces of chicken, a pile of fluffy potatoes, a ear of corn and some green beans. And pie--flaky, perfectly seasoned apple pie.

He’d remember that, later.

 

~*~

 

His stomach  _ hurt _ . Kevin was small, a painfully thin presence at his side, because that’s where Kevin always was. Sometimes, he’d go to Tom or Erin, but it was only if Jim forced him away when he was preparing to leave.

“You can’t go back,” Erin hissed at him and Jim shrugged.

“If I don’t, we all die. You ready for that?” Jim demanded.

She scowled and looked away. “They’re gonna catch you if you keep going back,” she muttered and he tried not to think about how much he wished they would.

If they caught him, it’d be over.

And over didn’t sound bad. Kevin whined in his sleep and Jim sighed, tugged the kid a little closer.

If it was over, they would all die. Erin couldn’t sneak into the storehouses. Tom was barely conscious most days. And Kevin--

Kevin was just a kid. He didn’t deserve any of this. Jim’s fists clenched, and he shoved down the outrage that was too familiar and quick to surface.

They were all kids. That was the problem. That was why they were hiding, and why they’d be killed. Because they were kids and the very old and very young were the first to go, under Governor Kodos execution orders. 

 

~*~

 

He liked it. 

Tarsus IV was a farming colony, and on the spaceflight there, he considered that--was Frank right?  _ Was  _ he trading one farm for another?

But Tarsus IV was  _ nothing _ like Iowa. The fields were green, but an almost electric green, so alive and bright it hurt to look at. There was a purple creeper that clung to everything, and he fell in love with the place, between one step and the other, fell in love with the wide open space and the bright blue sky, the shimmering purple moss and the green so vivid it made his eyes tear, the same way untouched snow in sunlight did.

Some of the colonist were smart. Scientist and biologist--he even heard that Hoshi Sato was here, working on a project she hadn’t yet shared.

But his uncle and aunt weren’t remarkable or bright. They were simple folk, and they were only here to farm.

Frank said he traded one farm for another, and maybe, when he walked through the fields, killed the biggest weeds, picked the crawling purple moss from the crop--maybe he was right.

But.

He didn’t trade one farm for another.

He traded a farm for a whole new  _ world. _

 

~*~

 

Jim crept through the purple moss. Most people avoided it like the plague. Which was stupid. The spores in the moss killed other  _ plant  _ life, sucked up all the nutrients and strangled what was left. It didn’t do anything to humans, unless they ingested it.

Which, yeah, ok, he risked that, when he crawled on his belly through it, but it was also the only way to get around undetected. Besides, he was pretty sure he'd need to eat the moss--that was what killed the livestock and herbivores. Their poisoned meat killed the carnivores, until it was one big circle of purple tinted death.

It was dark--the moon a thin sliver in a black sky that reminded him of earth--and he was covered in moss, and there really wasn’t much further to go.

His stomach hurt.

It had been six weeks since the first executions, and he stopped keeping count after the second round of killing. All he knew was the ash that came from the cremation fires coated everything the purple moss didn’t, and there were a helluva a lot less people around than there used to be.

Thomas did the math and said they had killed over four thousand.

Half the colony. Every person he knew in this system.

Sometimes, he wondered if Winona would ever find out what happened here.

Those are the days he didn’t think they would survive, the nights he woke up sweating and panicked because Kevin was sobbing and his gut ached and he  _ wanted _ to survive, wanted to go home, even if he didn’t think they would get to.

Erin got angry when he said something to that effect. Kevin cried for hours, when he overheard a fatalistic comment Jim threw off.

He learned that being flippant wasn’t worth the weeping and anger and started keeping his mouth shut after that.

He did the same thing, now. Crawled on through the dark, purple dust swirling around his shut mouth and clinging to his eyelashes.

 

~*~

 

The worst part wasn’t the hunger. It wasn’t the constant danger, the itch of it on his skin when he crawled through the moss to raid the storehouse in darkness. It wasn’t the scent of burning dead and the taste of ash on every breath he took.

It wasn’t even the guards, which were a special brand of hell.

It was--

“Hungry,” Kevin whimpered. He burrowed his head harder against Jim’s side, and Jim winced as it battered against his ribs. He ran a hand down the kid’s back and counted every bump and dip of his spine. Up the sharp curl of his ribs, counting there. Again. Again, until his breathing evened out.

“Jimmy, I’m hungry,” he whined and Jim let his head come down, into dirty smelly hair, pushing the promise into it, and hiding his tears there.

“It’s ok, Kev. It’s ok. I’ll take care of you.”

 

~*~

 

The first few months on Tarsus were good.

No.

They were amazing.

It wasn’t that different--there was school and there was work on the farm. He had a few friends--not many kids on Tarsus IV, and even less time for them to do anything but attend class and work with their parents.

But for the first time in his life he wasn't the Kelvin baby. He wasn't Winona’s half forgotten son.

He wasn't a dead hero’s legacy.

Here he was just Jim and that was enough. His teachers were impressed with his quick mind and inventive solutions and once, he caught Hoshi Sato watching him tinkering with a broken comm, her eyes curious and sharp.

But what he really loved--what he wouldn't ever admit to loving--was his aunt and uncle.

He loved that Aunt Hailey was there when he returned from school, with a snack and a smile and genuine interest in his life.

He loved that Uncle Tim was exhausted when they returned from working in the fields, muttering about crop growth and sustainability and still managed to find time to teach Jim to play chess and listen when he talked about whatever new thing he was building or taking apart.

For the first time in his life, he had people who cared about him.

Winona did--of course she did. She was just  _ busy. Distracted. _

He thought sometimes that it hurt her to look at him and see the husband she lost and so she stayed too busy to look.

But that didn't sting here, the way it did in Iowa.

Here.

God, he was actually  _ happy. _

 

_ ~*~ _

 

Sometimes. When Kevin was sleeping and Erin was busy taking care of Thomas and he could think about something other than the fact that they were all gonna die here--he crept out of the tiny cave. He slithered into the creeper and lay on his back and watched the sky.

Winona said that he was born among the stars and chaos and that was the only place that would ever feel like home to him.

Sometimes he thought she was right.

Before--before. Uncle Tim would take him to the wide open fields in the dark and they’d watch the stars. He’d tell Jim stories about George, about growing up with the man Jim would never know.

_ You’re like him, kiddo,  _ he said, once, and Jim had choked on his tears, glad for the dark that hid them.

He never wanted to be George Kirk. He just wanted to be James T.

But maybe it was ok, to be like him a little. He lay in the purple creeper moss that killed so much, and he could smell the fires, the familiar scent and taste of ash clinging to his throat and nose and he thought about the father who died to keep him alive and save all those people.

He thought about risking his life every time he snuck food from the storehouses.

Thought about the children who are, even now, waiting for him in a cave, who would die if he didn’t come back.

He watched the stars and thought that maybe being the son of George Kirk wasn’t such a bad thing.

 

~*~

 

He didn’t keep close track of how long they hid. Every few days, he’d creep out of their little cave and crawl through the moss. He'd steal enough from Kodos’ storehouses that the kids would survive another few days.

Erin and Jim took turns sitting with the kids and scouting. It was getting colder and the moss would be dying soon--he doesn't know how long it had been since the first wave of killing but he knew that summer was over and the days were shorter and Kevin never stopped shivering in the dark.

They had survived this long but he didn’t know how and he had no  _ idea _ how to get them through winter. Erin suggested hiding in one of the deserted farmhouses.

It was dangerous. The houses were too visible, too easy to check and too hard to hide in.

But it was getting colder and now the worry wasn’t if they’d starve, but if they’d freeze. Erin kept staring at him, her eyes wide and demanding and Jim finally nodded. “Ok. We’ll find a place.”

The thing is--he knew of one.

He went alone. Crept out while they’re all sleeping, knowing Erin would keep them fed and calm. He crept through the moss as far as he could , and emerged muddy and dusted in purple.

The house sat alone, in a circle of charred fields.

He remembered the fire--remembered the way Aunt Hailey looked sick but resolute while she held him close, and Uncle Tim put it all to flame, burning it in attempt to get ahead of the spores killing the crops.

It didn’t work.

Of course it didn’t.

He shoved the thoughts of fire and heat and dead relatives from his mind and perched in the ditch, pressed against the mud while he waited.

There was no one for miles. But there was nothing to hide behind, either.

He stayed there, curled in the ditch and watched the house for hours. It was cool without being cold, and bright purple dust gusted along the burntout fields, sticking to his muddy clothes and in his hair.

And that’s why he saw them. Four guards, dressed in the grey uniforms Kodos preferred. Unmistakable after that night from hell.

And his stomach dropped.

The way they walked, four abreast, methodical and careful and he  _ knews. _

The guards were hunting.

 

~*~

 

This was what he knew: the creeper moss is the prettiest killer he'd ever seen.

The children-- _ Kevin _ \--would die if they stayed in the cave.

They would die if Jim didn’t come back.

He could keep them alive.

It all shifted through his mind as the guard saw him, as his phaser came up and Jim broze in place.

And made a choice.

“Please,” he croacked, “please, I can. I'll do anything. Please don't kill me.”

 

~*~

 

Winona took him to the space port where Uncle Tim and Aunt Hailey were waiting. She'd smiled at him and  _ looked _ at him, like he was there, and she wasn't seeing a ghost that hurt to look at.

He didn't blame her for that.

Didn't blame dad for dying or Sam for running. Most days he didn't even blame Frank for being Frank.

It was shitty, the hand they got, and sometimes he wondered what would have happened if they'd gotten a different one. If Dad lived or Winona  _ stayed _ or he didn't look like a dead man. But he didn't and she wouldn't and Jim did.

“Stay outta trouble, Jimmy,” she said now, watching him with eyes that saw him and a frown that tilted her lips down and he nodded.

Stepped back when she would hug him and didn’t let himself see the way her face fell before she'd nodded and grinned at Hailey and turned abruptly on her heel.

Running away from the son who was a ghost.

 

~*~

 

He wondered, as the gun dug into his ribs, rubbing painfully against his bones, what the hell he'd been thinking.

He wished he could go back and hug her.

 

~*~

 

He wanted to run. That’s what Hailey hissed when Kodos started talking and the crowd went a little crazy, what she’d pushed into his ear before shoving him to the window.

_ Run, Jim. _

But. There was a kid outside, sitting on the ground by himself. He’d been crying, these big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks and around the thumb in his mouth and he looked so  _ lost. _

“Hey, buddy.” Jim said, crouching near him. The shouting was getting louder, behind him. “Where's your parents, huh?”

The kid pointed into the building where yells are beginning to climb, and Jim's stomach dropped. “Ok, well. You wanna come with me?”

The little boy stared at him, big eyed speculation for a second and someone screamed, shrill terror, jolting Jim a step forward, closer.

The kid nodded and Jim scooped him up, trying not to notice how light he was, and turned.

The girl almost fell on him, and the boy  _ did. _

_ “ _ Shit,” she yelped and fell back, scrambling away. Then froze. For a long moment they stared and then the boy moaned and the kid in Jim’s arms whimpered a little and the girl poked her lip out. “I know a place.”

Jim nodded and they took off.

The screamed and the sound of phasers firing chase them for what feels like miles from before Jim realized it was just in his head.

 

~*~

 

It would have been easier to run. He'd thought about it, watching the guards sweeping through the burnt fields, thought for a wild second about running until he was lost in the wilds.

It wouldn't be hard, and he could have survived.

But the kids wouldn't. Kevin wouldn't.

He turned back to the cave, where the kids were.

The guard caught him on the way back.

 

~*~

 

Erin annoyed him. She was a year older than Jim, sassy and angry and opinionated and she pissed him off when she argued.

And she argued about  _ everything. _

About food and rationing, water and supply runs, about taking care of Thomas and Kevin and where they should hide and what would happen to them and why Kodos lost his freaking mind and started killing people.

He wanted to hate her.

He  _ did _ , a little. Thomas adored her, but then, she’s the one who saved Thomas, so it made sense that the kid had a case of hero worship for her.

The thing was--much as he disliked her, he wasn’t stupid enough to think he didn’t need her.

She was smart. Wicked smart, the kind that of smart that came from books and tough living, and the kind of think outside the box ingenuity that Jim didn’t always understand.

It was her idea to use the creeper moss, and her idea to move to the deserted houses. Her idea to look at Hoshi Sato’s place for any communication equipment that might help them.

Erin never gave him answers. She figured out real fast that telling Jim what to do ended in a fight, in him digging in his heels and doing the opposite. Instead she put an idea out there and waited for him to stumble into the less than logical answer she wanted and then sat back with a smile and took care of Kevin and Thomas while he did exactly what she wanted.

“You’re playing me,” he told her one night, stumbling into the cave covered in purple dust and shivering with cold and holding two broken comm units.

She flashed him a smile and kissed his cheek. “Took you long enough to figure it out, Jimmy. Now tell me. Think you can fix these?”

He stared at her for a long time, until her smile faded and she scowled instead and he’s pretty sure he fell in love with her, just a little bit, in that time.

_ “Jimmy,”  _ she snapped and he laughed. Grabbed the comm units and nodded.

“Yeah, Erin. I’ll make ‘em work.”

She never talked about before. Never talked about how she ended up on Tarsus or who was in that room when the phaser fire started. She never asked Jim why he was.

Some things were just too much to talk about.

Jim could get that. He was pretty sure he even respected her for that.

When Jim was really tired, he thought maybe he wanted to be like Erin when he grew up.

If he grew up.

 

~*~

 

Thomas was touch and go. For weeks, after that first night, they hid in a tiny cave and Jim shoved a dirty shirt in Kevin's mouth when he cried, and Erin held onto Thomas.

The first and only time Erin hit him was when he murmured, “He won't make it.”

She punched him and snarled, “He's going to make it. We're all going to make it.”

He didn't argue, after that.

And Thomas surprised him. It took him a few weeks, hard weeks that Erin spent nursing him back to health and Jim ventured out for supplies and hypos and the tiny bits of food to keep them from dying.

Erin wouldn't talk about it. Wouldn’t talk about anything before the moment she stumbled into Jim and Kevin. But eventually, Thomas talked.

He was with his parents. He was only a year younger than Jim, but he'd been on Tarsus for almost two years.

The phaser blast that took his eye and seared half his face should have killed him.

It  _ did  _ kill his father, standing half turned in front of Thomas, and it left him in almost constant pain. But he was a tough kid, brilliant and, in his own way, as stubborn as Erin. She saved him, dragged him with her out the window when chaos broke open and bodies started falling and Jim doesn't need to know anything more than that because he was there for the rest.

What he did know was that Thomas was fiercely devoted to Erin and Kevin, a loyalty that was almost fanatical, and it extended to him. The first time he saw it, they’d left the cave, fleeing the guards who were still killing, and they stumbled into a couple, skeletal thin, wild eyed. The woman watched Kevin with almost psychotic longing, muttering about her dead son while Erin and Jim talked to the man, trying to edge their group past. Jim wasn’t paying attention to her--or to Kevin.

When Thomas shrieked, and the woman screamed, Jim’s attention snapped back to the kids.

Kevin was screaming, tears in his eyes as Thomas kicked the woman, and scrambled away from her, dragging Kevin and shoving the younger boy behind him.

“She tried to take him,” he shouted, and Jim paled so quickly he swayed. Erin’s went red, and she snatched Kevin up, dragging Thomas to her side. Jim didn’t bother negotiating, not anymore. He pulled the knife, their only weapon and pointed it at the man old enough to be his father. “Stay away from us,” he snarled, “or the guards won’t be the ones who kill you.”

 

~*~

 

It was the first time he threatened someone’s life.

It wouldn’t be the last.

 

~*~

 

The cave the guard walked him to was almost a mockery.

Tarsus was wide open fields, stretching for miles, and big forests surrounding cave riddled mountains.

Jim thought those mountains were the only reason anyone escaped Kodos’s killing fields.

This cave felt like the one he’d been living with the others in. Damp and dark and full of false security.

“You hiding with any other rats?” the guard asked and Jim’s lips tightened. He shook his head.

“Liar,” the guard grunted, but he was staring at Jim.

Assessing.

Jim knew he was pretty. He’d known it for a long time. Before, on earth, it got him out of trouble, and into it--depended on the day and his mood.

And here.

Well.

Here, him being pretty was amusing for Hailey, and endearing for the little neighbor ladies he saw when Uncle Tim took him into town.

And it was dangerous too.

The way the guard was looking at him.

He’d die in this cave. It was a crystal clear thought. This guard would kill him and Winona wouldn’t ever know, and neither would Sam. Maybe they wouldn’t care.

Kevin would. Erin would know when he didn’t come back. Thomas would get himself killed trying to keep them fed.

Kevin would cry, for days.

He’d die here, and maybe his relatives wouldn’t ever know.

But his  _ family _ would, and that was completely unacceptable.

 

~ *~

 

Tarsus was hell. It was  hunger that cramped his stomach and it was purple dust that might very well kill him. It was constant terror and the dull knowledge that he’d die there.

And it was Kevin, with his big blue eyes.

It’s Erin’s sharp smile of approval and Thomas’s rattling off the odds of them surviving without three more blankets and a protein bar.

It’s wide open fields burning, and the bright lights of the stars and the steady press of his uncle’s hand showing him the way home.

It’s innocence built and shattered.

He loved it. He thinks he will always love it.

And he wished like hell he had never left Iowa.

 

~*~

 

It was easy.

Thomas made them, after the couple who tried to steal Kevin. Sharp stones tied to a short, hard sticks. The knife stayed with Kevin, with whoever was caring for him, but they all were armed.

Crude. But it was effective, sliding across the guard’s throat, into his side, easy as a knife through butter, easy as a flame through dead grass.

His hands didn’t shake until it was over, until the guard’s choked protests died, a wet gurgle against the stone, and he’d edged himself away from the blood, so it didn’t touch him. Waited until the lights in the guard’s eyes went out and then, carefully, avoiding the blood, picked over him. Came away with a pair of socks for Thomas, a phaser and a baton, and three wrapped protein bars and a fucking cookie, shoved into the guy’s pocket, like some kind of treat for later.

He lifted the comm, too. He’d almost got his working, and this might help.

Then he left the dead behind him and went back to his little family.

 

~*~

 

He knew Erin knew, could see it in the way she watched him, the way she didn’t want to let Kevin get to close to Jim. Kevin curled into Jim, chattering about what Tom taught him, patting at his pockets in that way he had. Kid didn’t ask for food anymore, but he knew where to look, and Jim let him, let him find the cookie and squeak with excitement before he rolled away, wobbled on weak legs to Erin with a grin.

Jim was pretty sure he’d kill again, to put that grin on Kevin’s face.

Thomas saw it too, but he didn’t seem afraid of Jim. He had a streak of practicality that Erin was too emotional for. Later, he’d tell Jim that he was surprised it took this long for it to become necessary. He didn’t fear the killing that was necessary, or that Jim had blood on his hands. He accepted it.

Tarsus was hell and they might all die, but Jim would kill to protect his family and that increased their odds of survival.

Those were the facts that Thomas could live within.

Jim didn’t know what it said about him, that he could live with them as well.

 

~*~

 

He killed again, before Starfleet came in and rescued them all. He couldn’t help but think it was too little, too late.  

 

~*~

 

They’re in a race. Kodos knew that someone was reaching past the borders, into space, screaming into the void for help.

The guards were hunting again, and with the temperatures steadily dropping, they had to move.

Had to stay ahead of the guards.

Thomas planned, and Erin worried, and Jim—

Jim killed and kept his family alive.

 

~*~

 

Help was coming. He knew it, and for the first time, he lied to Erin and Thomas.

The guards were closing in on them and ships—Starfleet—was on it’s way, but he wasn’t feeding them false hope.

Starving on that would kill them faster than the guards.

But he held it, tight, this simple truth. They were coming. That stupid comm Erin forced him to make did it’s job, or maybe someone else reached Starfleet first, but they were  _ coming _ and they just had to hold on. The voice on the other of the comm was fierce in it’s demand that he hold on, and Jim nodded and swore it, tears in his eyes.

 

~*~

 

Jim wasn’t the one who made false promises. He didn’t make promises at all. Not to Kevin, not to Tom, never to Erin. He looked at the cold reality and pointed it out until it got him hit, and fought it with every fiber of his being, but he didn’t make promises.

He couldn’t keep them.

Promises belonged to Erin.

Erin swore they’d make it out and she was too fierce, too determined for him to do anything but believe her. She promised them food, and Jim found it. She promised Thomas he’d live, and he did.

She promised Kevin they’d go home and every day they stayed alive, they were a step closer to that.

Sometimes, Jim thought if he asked for it, she’d promise him Kodos dead at their feet, and somehow, he’d make it happen for her.

They waited for Starfleet and Erin promised to take them home.

Jim killed to keep them safe, and they raced to stay ahead of the guards that Kodos sent to bring them in.

It almost worked.

 

~*~

 

It was on the shuttle home, when Thomas was sitting at the end of his bed and Kevin curled in his lap on the floor, because he couldn’t handle the softness of the bed, or the sense of exposure of it--he really wanted to drag Thomas off the damn thing and down here, behind it and the desk, where they could hide and be safe--that Thomas told him about Erin. It was the first chance he had, the first time she wasn’t around to shut him up with a glare or an order.

Erin was his cousin. She came to Tarsus four days before the killing, to visit her favorite cousin.

He didn’t look at Jim, when he told the story.

“I killed her,” he whispered and Jim shook his head.

“Kodos killed her,” he said firmly, and Kevin reached up. Jerked hard on Tom’s foot, until he relented and came to the ground. Jim pushed them into the corner and Kevin burrowed into Tom’s chest as the older boy began to cry, finally.

“Jimmy? I miss Erin.” Kevin said, plaintive, and he closed his eyes, and leaned into the curve of the ship.

_ Me, too, kid. Me too. _

 

~*~

 

The sound of ships are what lured them out, what lured  _ her _ out. Erin, the cautious fearful leader, the one who worried when Jim took risks, and hid Kevin and Tom, who fought with every breath to keep them safe and together and alive. She heard the ships, the low humming glide of them and the shouting.

She ran from the cave while Jim yelled at her to stay, to  _ wait. _

Kodos wasn’t going to crumple easily—and even if he did, his guards were vicious, attack dogs with nothing to lose.

She ran head first into guards, before the first shuttles landed.

Erin was the last person Kodos and his men kill, before Starfleet swarm the planet and begin to make sense of the wreckage.

 

~*~

 

Jim kept them hidden in that cave another three weeks, while the rescue teams pulled the survivors from the planet, lured those still in hiding out of their safe holds, while the galaxy wondered what the actual hell happened here. He left Kevin with Thomas while he crept out to watch, skittering away when strangers came to close. He was good at hiding, after six months, and almost as good at losing a tail on his way home.

Starfleet knew he was  there—they take to leaving food out and he snatched it before he returned to his cave, to his family.

The fourth time, he found the tracker in the bag.

It took Starfleet personnel another four days to coax them out, and in the end, it’s not them. He didn’t trust them, and with the food he’d stored away since Starfleet arrived, they could survive for weeks.

It’s Kevin.

He looked up at Jim, and said, quiet and sweet, “I wanna go home.”

It broke Jim’s heart, a little. But he nodded, and the three of them left the cave together.

 

~*~

 

“I don’t understand--” Thomas said, when they were finally back on earth, tucked into a hospital. Jim refused to let them be separated, but it’s coming. He knew it, even if Tom and Kevin didn’t.

Kevin wanted him to promise he wouldn’t leave, and every time the kid asked, he distracted him with an apple. He was pretty sure that Tom knew what he’s doing.

“I don’t understand why they killed her,” Thomas said, again and Jim nodded.

It was stupid. Senseless. They survived six months, fighting tooth and nail and she was killed by a guard cornered by Starfleet, with no way out and nothing to lose.

It didn’t make sense, and maybe--maybe that was everything true about Tarsus.

None of it made any goddamn sense.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part III. Scattered Destiny**

 

Being on the  _ Enterprise _ bred a kind of intimacy that was incestuous and dysfunctional and  _ home _ .

Nothing stayed secret on the ship--they lived in the black and when they weren’t fighting for their lives, they were bored to death, star charting and occasionally--bless the brass--exploring unknown planets.

But when it was quiet, when they were doing routine sweeps of Federation systems, there was nothing to amuse or distract anyone.

Nothing but the inner workings of the crew.

For the first six months or so, it was amusing. There were the expected romances, and the friendly rivalries between the departments. There were pranks and whispers of a still in engineering that Jim absolutely refused to listen to.

Gossip was a currency, and the best gossip revolved around the bridge crew.

When he was especially bored, Jim would sit a corner of the rec room and listen to the rumors about his senior staff, and later, he’d laugh himself silly with Bones.

Spock would give him that serious tilt of his eyebrows, and remind him that his behavior was unbecoming an officer.

And Jim would grin back, would shrug and say,  _ but it’s funny, Spock. _

That’s where he was--a dark corner of the rec room--when he heard the whispers that snapped his spine straight and sent him to Spock’s quarters.

He knocks twice and when that doesn’t get him an invitation to enter, mutters a curse and hacks his way in.

“You could at least pretend you're surprised,” Jim says sullenly when his First Officer stares at him, expressionless, from the floor.

“Vulcans do not lie,” Spock says, blandly, and Jim snorts his opinion of that, coming to sit in a messy sprawl across from Spock, chaos to his neat order.

“Why you hiding in here?”

Spock’s eyebrow twitches up. “I did not realize that meditating in my quarters constituted  _ hiding _ .”

“It does when you’re lying to me.”

Spock goes stiff and Kirk huffs out a breath, scooting closer to his First, arranges his face to be earnest and considerate. “You and Uhura broke up.”

He inhales, opens his mouth to speak and Kirk touches him. Lightly. Two fingers to the back of Spock’s wrist, a pulse of comfort and sorrow and the deep need to make things  _ better. _

It takes the wind out of his sails and he nods, once.

“How long?” Kirk asks, biting his lip. “If Uhura and Scotty are a thing, it has to have been a while, right?”

“I ended our romantic relationship before we launched. We...I am fond of Nyota, and value her friendship. But we could not be what the other needed.”

There’s too much there for Kirk to unpack, starting with--six fucking  _ months. _

“I wish I’d have known. I would have gotten you drunk.”

Something like a smile twitches the corner of Spock’s lips. “Which, sir, is precisely why you were not informed.”

The smile helps. Eases something tight and worried in his gut. Still, “You’ll tell me, won’t you? If you aren’t ok?”

Spock’s head tilts, his expression perplexed. “My work has not--”

“No, Spock, stop.” Jim says, cutting him off and Spock goes quiet, watching him. “I’m not asking because I’m your captain. I’m asking because I’m your friend.”

Spock stares, blank faced for so long Jim almost says something, a small joke to break the tension, and then.

“I am fine, Captain. It was a mutual choice that I do not regret.”

Jim nods and forces a smile. “Good. That’s good then.”

 

~*~

 

They adjust.

It takes time. A few nights of hesitating too long and Spock escapes, before he can extend an invitation to dinner or the observation deck. Each time he watches the straight back shoulders retreating, it feels like he fucked up. Like he’s lost an opportunity that he wasn’t sure he’d ever get, and now he had, but he’s failing.

He glares at the stack of reports he’s working his way through and a sudden thought comes to him.

He sends the comm without giving himself to second guess himself.

“Mr. Spock, report to my quarters.”

It takes less than a minute before the door is chiming and Spock steps inside, tense and curious, and Jim gives him a  wide smile. “Are you busy?” he asks and the Vulcan shakes his head, moving deeper into the room when Jim waves him toward  a seat. “I’ve got to send these budget reports back to Command.”

“Sir, I reviewed and filed that report two days ago. You merely need to sign it and--”

“I know, I know, but--go over it with me.” Jim coaxes, giving Spock his best smile. “Tell me how my lady runs.”

Spock considers him before he nods, and launches into a detailed overview of the report.

Which should put Kirk to sleep. It’s not anything he doesn’t already know--whatever else he might be, Kirk is attentive where his ship is concerned. But it’s different, listening to Spock’s low voice, smooth heat that fills up the cabin and soothes Kirk.

When they’re done--having reviewed personnel reports and transfer requests--Spock stands and move to leave.

And hesitates.

Kirk watches him for a moment and when he doesn’t speak, prompts softly, “Spock?”

“I will be finishing my reports tomorrow, after our shift concludes. If you would like to join me, it may make the process more expedient.”

It’s the worst date he’s ever been asked on--and then Kirk reminds himself, quickly, that it’s not a date.

“That sounds very practical.” Kirk says, mildly. Spock nods once, and exits the room and Kirk allows himself a smile.

 

~*~

 

It’s not as if they weren’t friends, before. It’s that there’s a freedom to it now.

Kirk isn’t constantly aware of a girlfriend that deserved Spock’s free time.

“So he’s single and you’re filling his free time with reports? Jim, that’s cruel,” McCoy says, smirking, “even for you.”

“Shut up!” Kirk protests, flushing. “I’m not increasing his workload. We’re just...working together.”

McCoy’s look is so profoundly unimpressed Kirk squirms in his seat. “If you want to be friends with him, maybe be his  _ friend _ and not his captain, Jim.”

The problem is he doesn't know  _ how.  _ Every attempt to reach out is gently rebuffed with logical reasons why Spock couldn't spend time with the Captain.

He doesn't  _ mean _ to bring it up with the Ambassador. It just kind of happens, during one of the calls from the Colony, with that old man staring at him like he hung each and every star, a fond smile tilting his lips.

He's taken to calling himself Salek, and the Colony adores him--as much as Vulcans adore anyone--as he and Sarek gently guide the rebuilding of their civilization. Jim is absurdly proud of the old man, even if he has no right to be.

The Colony is keeping to themselves, Vulcan reserve reaching a new level that holds the entire Federation at a distance. Somehow, between Spock and Kirk and the two Ambassadors, the  _ Enterprise  _ and her crew has become the middleman between the Colony and the Federation. It's a task Jim would resent if it weren't for the Vulcan watching him now.

“You are troubled,” Salek says, his voice ancient and heavy and warmly familiar and Jim shrugs. There's no point in lying about it. The only being in the universe who can read him better is McCoy.

“Spock is avoiding me,” he says. That gets a single raised eyebrow and he pushes on. “He and Uhura broke up. Six  _ months  _ ago. And I just. I want to be his friend.”

“I was informed you have been working closely together.”

Jim blinks. “He told you that?”

“Our father did,” Spock says, waving away the source of the knowledge. “Is it not true?”

“No, it is. But that's all we do. He won't stay if ships business is finished.” Jim hesitates and then. “I want to be his  _ friend _ , Spock. Not just his captain.”

There is something very gentle in Salek's face, something that makes Jim ache to see it. It should be strange, seeing so much emotion on a face so familiar and different but it's not. It feels right, the way Spock  _ should  _ look at him.

He clears his throat and the old man smiles.

“My Jim challenged me. In our sparring, intellectually--he presented a puzzle and I could not stop myself from solving it.”

Jim stared and Spock’s smile turns a little bit sly. The door to his quarters glides open and Spock-- _ his _ Spock--steps into the room. There is, as always, a tiny tightening around Spock's mouth. “Ambassador,” he says coolly, and Salek smiles from the screen.

“I have taken enough of your time, Captain. We will await your arrival at the Colony.”

“Yeah. Well see you within the month.”

“If I might have a word with you, Ambassador,” Spock says smoothly and Kirk pushes to his feet. It annoys him, but he understands a dismissal when he hears it, and the relationship between the two Spocks...well. He doesn't interfere with them. Frankly, it hurts his head to think about too much. So he doesn’t just grins his goodbyes and claps Spock on the shoulder as he goes. 

But he doesn’t calm, doesn’t truly settle until Spock appears on the bridge, straight backed and familiar as he takes his place at the science station without word. Some of the tension has gone out of him and it makes a smile turn up Jim’s lips. 

 

~ *~

 

When it happens, it’s completely by accident.

Jim is in the rec room, Chekov intent across from him. Sulu is reading a something distinctly botanical a few chairs away because the helmsman and navigator never seemed to do anything without the other.

Kirk sipped his coffee and watched the kid. He is a fucking genius, even at eighteen, the youngest member of the crew, and he’d be something of a mascot, if he  _ weren’t _ brilliant.

As it is, half the time, Jim is caught off guard by the way his mind works and the other half he wants to teach the kid everything no one ever bothered to teach him when he was that age.

Which is why he’s there. Drinking coffee and watching the kid’s bright eyes on the chess game.

“Sir.”

It’s almost funny--from the way Sulu coughs into his book it  _ is _ funny, the way both he and Chekov snap straight at Spock’s voice. Kirk looks up, up up to where his First is observing them with something startled in his eyes.

“Spock, sit down,” Kirk says, waving a hand at the chair and hoping like hell he’d take the invitation.

“Sir, there is a message from Starfleet. I believe you should take it.”

Of course. He eyes the chess game sadly and then grins. Moves his queen and nods at Chekov. “Checkmate in three.” Pavel makes a frustrated noise in his throat, and Sulu lowers his book, giving his friend a lazy grin. 

“Pay up, Pasha.”

“And that,” Kirk says, standing and tugging Spock along by gripping the sleeve of his blue uniform, “is our cue to get out of here.”

“Sir, if there is betting--” Spock begins.

“Nope. Stop right there. We did not hear that and we are not aware of that and we are sure as fuck not going to stop it.”

Spock is silent for a long moment, until they’re in the turbolift and then, when he does speak, he shocks the hell outta Kirk. “I did not know you played chess, Captain.”

Jim blinks at him, surprised he’s not going to pursue the whole betting amongst the crew thing.

“Uh. yeah. My uncle taught me.”

Spock nods, and Jim eyes him, curious. There’s a faint hint of green high on his cheeks and in the tips of his ears and it’s fucking  _ adorable _ .

“I also play. Perhaps, on occasion, you would honor me with a game?”

Kirk doesn’t breath for a full ten seconds, processing that as the lift stops and the doors glide open, as Spock steps out and then looks back at the Captain, hesitant and hopeful without ever changing expression.

He breathes again, and grins. “Yeah, Spock. I’d like that.”

 

~*~

 

It's easier from there. Spock is still reserved. Still so professional and stiff it almost hurts. But sometimes, he will linger for an hour or so after the work is finished, will watch him with dark, avid eyes, long fingers steepled under his chin.

The first time Jim wins a chess match, Spock’s expression crunches in bewilderment so startled that it pulls a laugh from Kirk. “C’mon, Spock. Surely you know I'm more than just a pretty face. You had to know I wasn't  _ bad _ at this.”

“Not bad and quite good are two very different things, Captain.”

Kirk frowns, playful. “Jim. We're not on duty right now, call me Jim.”

Spock’s lips tighten and he reach for the pieces. “Shall we play again?”

Kirk grins because he didn't win--Spock didn't call him Jim--but he isn't losing either.

 

~*~

 

The nights spent together over chess and reports become nights spent enjoying dinner and occasionally sparring and one afternoon, Jim looks up to realize that Spock as become essential to him.

He's reading a message, a personal one that he took in his quarters, and his fingers shake a little on the PADD.

When the door glides open, he can't quite pull off the charming Captain mask, and something Spock sees makes him hesitate. Step deeper into the room and hover, uncertain, close to the desk.

“Ca-” Spock pauses and then, “Jim. You appear troubled.”

Kirk smiles, wide and dazzling. “You called me Jim.”

One eyebrow winged up, that familiar,  _ humans are very illogical, and you more than most _ look that Jim seemed to be the recipient of with startling frequency.

He waves Spock at the chair across from him. “I have a nephew,” he reports, happily, a touch of sorrow coloring his voice.

Spock’s head tilts. “Felicitations, sir. I was unaware that you had a sibling.”

“Most people aren't. Sam left home when I was ten.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then, “My brother left Vulcan when I was sixteen years of age.”

For a man like Spock, who guarded his privacy with an almost religious zealousness, the confession is a precious gift.

“Were you close?” Jim asks, and something slips over the other man’s face, a spasm of pain and grief that is still poignant, despite the time that has passed.

“Very close.” His eyes are sad when he looks at Kirk and asks, “And you? Were you and your Sam close?”

“No. Not until I was older, in the Academy. He resented me, for a lot of reasons.” Jim shrugs, “But we both grew up. Got past it.”

Something curious and angry filled his First’s eyes before it’s banked and Spock says. “Will you see him and the child?”

“If we get orders to Denvea. But you know the drill, Spock.” He grins and Spock answers it with the small smile that Kirk loves.

It slips through him, fast as quicksilver, and his grin falters a little. It works like a signal, and Spock shifts back to his first officer, straight backed and by the book, and Kirk listens as he reports their progress, nodding absently, as he let’s that knowledge settle over him.

**He loves Spock _._ **


	4. Chapter 4

**Part IV.  Illogical Orders**

 

“Captain, a message from Starfleet Command.”

Uhura’s voice is crisp and smooth, cutting across the peace of the bridge and Jim looks up from his PADD, a little startled. Less than an hour until the end of Alpha shift, and Command is sending orders now?

“Send it to my quarters, will you?”

“Aye, sir,” she answers, and Jim turns, catching Spock’s eye.

“Mr. Sulu, you have the conn. Spock, with me.”

It’s all ritual and familiar, and Spock flows to his side as natural as breathing, matching his steps as they leave the bridge.

Jim gives in to the urge to grin. It’s been less than a year since they launched their third five year voyage, and he knows it’s going to be the last--maybe not for the _Enterprise,_ for him and Spock--but for this crew, it is. Sulu is so hungry for command, Jim’s vaguely surprised he hasn’t jumped ship already. Chekov is brilliant, as a navigator and a scientist--the kid’s grown up well on the _Enterprise,_ guided by some of the best ‘fleet has to offer, but Jim’s got no illusions that when Sulu leaves, he’s taking Pavel with him. He’s been courted so hard by other captains, he knows the only reason they've kept him is because of Sulu. Uhura won’t go anywhere--not without Scotty, and they’ll decommission her before Scotty can be pried away from the _Enterprise_ engine rooms.

He’ll keep some of his family-- and Spock would never leave, even if the Admiralty wanted him to Captain his own ship. 

It wouldn't be the same, but it wouldn't be  _ bad,  _ either.

“Think we’re finally being sent out?”

Spock favors Jim with a brief look. “I think you are wasted star charting and even the Admirals know it.”

His grin turns a little smug, “Sweet talker. You trying to get lucky tonight?”

Spock’s expression doesn’t change but the hum of his mind does and Jim leans into him, a brief, familiar pressure. “I’m a sure thing.”

“As you have been for years, Jim. It does not change facts.” Spock says, agreeably. Kirk smirks, and the turbolift slows, the doors sliding open.

Spock follows Jim into their quarters, standing neat and proper as Jim sprawls at his desk, keying up their orders, eyes bright with excitement and possibility.

This. This moment here, when everything is possible and the vast expanse of space is waiting for them. This is why he's here. Why he won't take a promotion that will leash him to a desk or teach at the VSA or Academy.

This bright shining moment.

Spock brushes his fingers against Kirk's neck, a reminder of his presence and Jim smiles and opens their orders.

Komack’s face fills the PADD, and Jim frowns, excitement dimming.

_ Captain Kirk. _

_ The Enterprise is to be rerouted to the Aueceri system. We’ve received a distress call from Aueceri VI. Investigate and protect the Federation’s interests. I shouldn’t need to say this, but we need the heptalite wells, Kirk. Get in there and find out who's been threatening our interests. Take care of it and report back. Remain in orbit until all threats have been resolved. _

_ Play nice with the locals, Kirk. They’re prickly and have some interesting ideas on morality. You aren’t there to pass judgment. You’re there to make sure we get our heptalite and that Starfleet personnel aren’t at any undue risk. _

There’s a long moment of silence after the message ends, filled only with the buzz of concern from Spock in the back of his mind.

“Why are you worried? We’re fucking babysitting.” Kirk says, bitterness lacing his tone.

Spock elects to ignore the question, stepping closer to comm the bridge. “Mr Chekov. How long will it take us to reach Aueceri VI?”

There’s a moment, and then, “Seventy two hours, at warp seven.”

Kirk frowns. That’s a fucking galaxy away. Spock is watching him, that concern a little sharper than it was before. “Lay in the course,” Kirk says and there’s a brief acknowledgement before Spock cuts the connection to the bridge and Jim scowls. “Ok, so we’re being order halfway across the galaxy to babysit. Still doesn't explain why you’re worried.”

“Vulcans do not worry,” Spock says, almost by rote, and Jim snorts. Spock’s eyes warm, a fraction and he straightens. “I would like to investigate Aueceri VI before I deliver my concerns.”

“We’ve got seventy two hours, Spock. Go investigate.”

Some of the tension eases in Spock’s shoulders and he reaches for Jim, catching his hand. “Thank you,  _ ashayam.” _

Jim smiles at him, takes the brief squeeze on his hand and the flare of warm love through their bond, before Spock turns and leaves the room.

For a moment, he considers doing his own research. Curiosity about the mission, about Aueceri, about Spock’s reaction--it’s all itching at his skin.

But Spock asked for time, and he can give that.

So he shoves his impatience down, and stands to return to the bridge. At least they aren’t fucking star charting anymore.

 

~*~

 

Bones is waiting for them when Kirk enters the mess hall, Spock at his side. He's half heartedly glaring at his PADD, and poking at his dinner and he doesn't look up as they sit across from him, barely even grunts an acknowledgement.

It's good to know whatever time passes, whatever changes in the galaxy and his crew, his best friend being a grumpy bastard will  _ never  _ change.

“Send Chekov down for his damn physical,” Bones snaps. “Everyone is done except for him and you. Why is it every damn year, I’m forced to chase you two idiots all over the damn ship.”

“We like to keep you on your toes,” Jim says with a wide grin.

Spock doesn’t sigh, but he shifts, pressing against Kirk’s shoulder. “Both will report for their physicals by end of alpha shift, Doctor.”

Bones grunts. “Word is we got orders.”

Jim has long since stopped wondering where the hell Bones gets his info. The CMO always seems to know what's happening on the ship well before Jim gets around to informing him--if gossip is the crew's pastime, none are quite so well versed as the grumpy head of Medical.

"We're headed to Aueceri VI. Starfleet's hearing some hostilities and we're supposed to guard the Federation's interests."

Bones' eyebrow wings up in a pale imitation of Spock. "That hardly seems like the best use of our particular talents," he says slowly and Jim laughs.

"Believe me, I am aware."

Spock is silent, and Jim nudges his bondmate gently. A question without ever speaking.

"I am confidant Starfleet is aware of the unique skills the Enterprise and her crew has to offer. If they are requesting this of us, there must be a reason."

"Beyond Komack trotting out the poster boys for PR?" Bones says, voicing the thought that's been circling Jim's mind, relentless, since he opened the orders.

Spock inclines his head. "That is, of course, a possibility."

It wouldn't be the first time Komack used the flagship and the handsome young command team to earn some good press. After Vulcan was destroyed, it was fucking common, one diplomatic PR stunt after the other until the Colony demanded Kirk's assistance and Sarek pulled some strings--Vulcan and the Ambassador got what they wanted and the PR missions dried up, replaced with missions to the Colony whenever they were nearby, with enough time between to press back the edges of the black.

Kirk is pretty sure he can thank Salek for that, even if the old bastard refuses to acknowledge his hand in it.

Something warm and amused brushes his mind and he slides a glance at Spock.

His shields have been stronger than normal today, not cutting himself off from the bond--Jim thinks of it more like Spock went into a separate room, the door cracked between them enough that he  _ can  _ peer in, while still quietly requesting privacy.

They've been bonded for long enough that it's not even something he's aware of--it's a quiet hum of muted emotions between them, and Jim's simple acceptance. This, now, is the first Spock has reached for him since they read their new orders together.

_ Ready to talk? _

A hum of acquiescence and Kirk shifts. "Mind if we cut this short, Bones?"

"Go," he grumbles. "Spock, don't let him forget."

"I shall not, Doctor," Spock promises and Kirk grins between them, catches his First Officer by the wrist and hauls him out of the mess hall.

Something hot and amused flares down the bond and Jim twists, grinning up at him as they walk through the ship he knows so well it's like breathing.

"Like that, huh?" he teases and Spock arches an eyebrow.

He is straight back and blank faced, aside from the bright warmth of his dark eyes on Jim, his hands clasped at his back.

But the bond is burning with want and love and affection, all the feelings he's hidden by a half closed door roaring to life as he watches Jim bounce around him in excited happiness.

There is a single flare of heat, the only warning Kirk gets as the door slides shut and then he’s covered, wrapped up in Vulcan heat and the bond blows wide. He makes a choked noise as lust and love flood into him and Spock’s lips find his skin, the curve of his throat that feels perpetually bruised and bearing Spock's mark, sucks hard just to feel Jim jerk under him, feel the wordless cry in their minds before he smiles, and wraps a hand around Jim.

It's a rush after that, of hot hands and slick fingers, teeth and that cut glass noise Spock makes when he pushes into Jim, floods through the bond, possesses him in every way possible and Jim writhes under him and takes everything Spock will give, until Jim is laughing and demanding  _ more _ and Spock gives it.

After, they collapse, sticky, Jim’s skin tacky with sweat that Spock licks away as he burrows into Jim’s chest, lips and tongue and almost absent caress.

“You still worried?” Jim asks, drowsy, into Spock’s hair.

“Sleep, Jim. There will be time for worry later.”

He smiles, as he drifts away, held tight in Spock’s steady arms.

 

~*~

 

It takes seventy two hours to arrive at Aueceri VI.

Spock files a report with Kirk about the planet’s history with the federation, about the telepathic race and their society, and Bones pushes him into a physical and then there's an emergency in engineering that keeps him busy through Gamma shift and then they're there and any time for concerns and questions have long passed.

They beam down together, Kirk and Spock and Bones and a security team, into a muddy square that's wet and dank. There's smoke in the air and a scent that Jim would know anywhere. One that throws him back to a time of hunger and purple dust and a too small body pressed against him, and the ash of burnt crops and burnt bodies on his lips, coating his throat.

And he realizes, abruptly, that nothing about this mission is going to go as planned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part V: Kadiith**

 

They find a rhythm, in that little house on the edge of the desert. A beat that they live their days to. Sometimes, he missed the  _ Enterprise. _

Most times, if he is honest.

It isn’t as if he didn't like the house or New Vulcan or even the way life crept by at a crawl that he can actually savor.

It's that he misses  _ home.  _ He misses the laughter of his crew in the halls and rec room. He misses Sulu’s smirk as he laid the Captain out ( _ again _ ) when they sparred together. He misses Chekov and Spock, heads bent together as they discuss something scientific that Kirk only half understand and Scotty’s brilliant and completely never going near her warp core with that plan schemes.

He misses the hum of her engines and the stale air and Spock pressed too close to him in their bed.

He misses  _ home. _

But home is docked at Starbase 9 and his family is scattered by orders and desire and he is here, with his best friend and the man he loves and it isn’t bad.

So he can’t look out into forever and feel freedom vibrating under his fingertips.

It isn’t bad.

 

~*~

 

The problem, Bones tells him (often, loudly, acerbically) is that the legs weren't broken. He could fix broken. They were  _ wasted _ .

Jim smiles and nods and refuses to look at them because those weak withered things aren’t him, dammit.

“C’mon, Jim, push a little harder.” Bones coaxes.

Jim grins, “You're a fucking bastard.”

“Yep. Now don't be a baby. Push harder.”

Jim groans a curse and flexing against the weights McCoy adjusts. It shouldn't still be this difficult.

“It'll take time, Jimmy,” Bones says gently. Too gently. He doesn't  _ want  _ gentle from Bones, not anymore than he wants billowing sheer curtains or warm desert heat.

“It's taking too long,” Jim says, stubborn.

“Maybe you should have thought about that when you decided to crash into their base.”

“Shut up, Bones. I hear enough from Spock.”

There's a hiccup of movement and then, gently, “Ok, Jim.”

His gentleness makes Jim nervous and antsy, makes him want to lash out and curl into a ball, all at once. It makes him irrationally defensive and for a moment he aches with longing and want,

_ Spock, please I need you. _

There is no response, only a soft pulse of love and safety, wordless warmth. He squeezes his eyes closed and forces a smile and says with bright forced cheerfulness, “C’mon, Bones. Let's go again.”

 

~*~

 

Spock is like a ghost haunting the house. He drifts through, straight backed and silent, his gaze cool as it lights on Kirk and flicks away.

They've fought before. Of course they have, over missions and shore leave and Kirk's ridiculous need to throw himself headlong into danger without bothering to consider what Spock might think of it. But it's never been like this, never been the sharp lasting fury that cuts Spock off from him.

And Kirk is getting tired of it.

He waits a week, waits for them to settle into life ground side and this little house that is theirs but not, waits for Bones to relax his constant watching and for Spock to return from his journey into New ShiKahr. Waits until he has word from the Ambassador that he and their father will visit in two days time.

And then he says enough.

Spock had taken to staying away, meditating in the library after the house quiets for the evening and Jim lingers on the edge of sleep, exhaustion and his still broken body tugging him down.

Then Spock comes to him, slips into the bed behind him, a familiar comforting presence at his back, curled protective and hot around him.

This night, Jim fights that sleep, fights the need to give into it, until Spock settles around him, quiet through their bond as he eases down around Jim.

_ How long we gonna do this? _

There's a beat of silence and then,  _ You were reckless. _

Even that makes relief sing through him.

_ You know that's part of my job. _

Cold silence answers that and he wants to turn to Spock, wants to drink him in. Forces himself to remain still.  _ I'm here, Spock. Nothing happened. _

A ghost of a touch, hot and glancing over his thighs. Pain flares so bright it's blinding and there's a quick apology, arms tightening around him, and Spock's voice, soothing,  _ Easy, ashayam. _

_ Tired.  _ He sighs across the bond and something sad answers him.  _ I'm so tired. I hate fighting with you. _

_ Maybe you should quit trying to kill yourself, Jim.  _ It sounds like a reprimand but it's warm and soft, and the bond flares liquid love between them and he falls deeper drifting on that love and Spock's murmur,  _ Rest, Jim. Sleep, beloved. _

Smiling, with tears in his eyes, he does.

 

~*~

 

The Ambassadors come together the first time, Spock’s father and older counterpart, and Jim grins and greets them with Bones, waving them into living area. “Ambassador Sarek, Salek. I'm afraid Spock isn't here just now. But, of course, the doctor and I are pleased to see you.”

Sarek, even after the years Spock and Jim have been together, married on more planets than is decent for any couple, still manages to look as severe and uncomfortable as the first time Jim met him, in the wake of Vulcan's destruction. Salek appears thinner, older, stretched, but his smile is still sharp and familiar, fond and warm when Jim gives him a rough hug. 

“Thank you, sir, for this,” he starts, and Sarek waves him down.

“No thanks are necessary. You are my son’s  _ t’hy’la _ and husband. It is only logical that you have a place on his planet.”

A light flush works it’s way over Jim’s cheeks. Salek is smiling, that familiar fond amusement that Jim loves so much. Sarek has long since ceased commenting about the relationship Salek has with Jim and Spock--some things, even a logical Vulcan ambassador cedes as outside his purview and  _ that _ murky relationship was given up years ago.

There is some talk of the  _ Enterprise _ and how New Vulcan is faring. Salek reports proudly about the new Vulcan Science Academy. Jim listens, a smile on his face, and wishes Spock were here for this.

Even a decade after Vulcan’s destruction, Spock had an almost obsessive interest in the Colony and the progress there.

He reaches for the bond and across from him, Salek flinches.

He’d forgotten about that. 

The bond with Spock was too similar to the one Salek shared with his Jim Kirk--there were enough echoes that it always was a little screwy around the old man.

Maybe that’s why his head felt stuffy and empty, all at once.

“Jim,” Salek said, as Sarek stepped out of the room to take a comm from the embassy. “Have you seen the healers since you arrived?”

“Um. No? Bones is taking care of me.” he frowns at the old Vulcan. “You know that.”

Something strange shadowed Salek’s eyes, briefly, and Jim wants desperately for Spock to be here.

“I am worried about you, old friend.”

Jim grins, and it doesn’t feel real. He knows damn well it won’t fool Salek, who has always read him better than anyone but Spock and Bones. “I’m fine,” he insists. Salek arches a brow, a look he knows so well from his bondmate and Jim’s grin spreads wider, and real, now.

“This,” he waves at his legs. “It’s just part of the job. Your Jim got hurt too.”

Salek is silent and finally, “There was once that comes to mind.”

Jim’s eyes go sharp and curious and he can’t help asking, “What happened?”

It’s a useless question. Salek never shares what happened in his world. Aside from that meld so long ago when both of them were reeling, he had been almost militant in keeping his history separate from Jim and Spock.

“He was hurt on an away mission. He met a woman.” Something very sad enters his voice, and Jim’s heart twists. “She cared for him. And--he loved her.”

Jim stares at him, and he doesn’t understand what that has to do with him. With now. He smiles and wishes like hell that Spock would come rescue him from their friend.

But, of course, he never does.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part VI: The Longest Shadow.**

 

James T. Kirk was a household name, linked invariably to _Kelvin_ and George Kirk and ‘so sad, poor baby’ before he ever saw the blue skies of earth.

When Winona was wheeled off the transport that carried her back to earth, grief shattered and clenching a screaming baby, she was greeted by a hoard of holovids, reporters scrambling for the first shot of the _Kelvin_ Baby, for the little life that George died for.

She wanted to tell them that they were wrong. George died for eight hundred souls, not just her and Jim.

She wanted to tell them that Jim wasn’t a miracle anymore than any baby is, he was just her son, George’s son.

She wanted to tell them they were fucking vultures and to let them grieve in peace.

She wanted so fucking much.

She was a Starfleet officer, and Jim was an icon, a symbol of hope and everything George gave up. And Starfleet needed the good press, as they scrambled to spin losing a ship and orphaning a baby, and a goddamn massive ship that just disappeared after attacking.

Archer promised it would only be once. And she needed the money the holovids were promising.

She felt dirty when she held her son up and answered their fucking questions. She did it anyway.

 

~*~

 

Archer, turned out, was a fucking liar.

It wasn’t once.

It wasn’t even once a month.

 

~*~

 

Jimmy Kirk was a difficult baby. He was gorgeous, with curling gold hair, eyes that were unnaturally bright, and a wide smile that dared you to laugh with him.

He was also perpetually angry, prone to screaming, allergic to _everything_ and when he started to crawl--Winona couldn’t keep him corralled. Sam could distract him for a little while, but the kid was _smart_ and he was _determined_ and she was working, doing the best she could to keep the family and her career afloat.

Both were slowly sinking, but Jimmy got his stubbornness from someone.

So she wasn’t surprised when she looked around the living room that doubled as her office, and realized Jim’s slid past her shields.

Fucking photon torpedoes couldn’t get past these things, but her two year old?

She muttered a curse and stood to find him, and that’s when she saw them--aircars painted with the logos of the holovids.

Her heart sank and she ran out onto the front porch, in clothes three days old and messy curls held back by a filthy rag she’d tied around it when she was fucking with George’s bike two days back.

Jimmy was sitting in the middle of the stairs to the porch, clutching one of the many cats that wander the farm, wearing a dusty grin, and dustier shorts, and a tshirt that reads, Future Starship Captain across the Academy’s logo.

Archer might be a fucking liar, but he was fond of Jimmy.

The picture was bad enough--the headlines, accusing her of everything from abuse to neglect to selling her baby to Orion pleasure houses--those were even worse.

It was the last year she agreed to play PR for Starfleet.

 

~*~

 

Jim knew. He was a smart kid, and he could read, better than most kids his age. So sure, he knew. Knew that he was the _Kelvin_ Baby, that his teachers cooed over him and holovids still lingered in town on his birthday. Knew Starfleet kicked credits into Mom’s account to cover George’s pension, loss of life in honorable service.

He even knew, by the ripe old age of eight, that the _Kelvin_ and George’s actions were required learning in the Academy.

So when Winona sat him down and told him about the hearing--he wasn’t really surprised.

It maked a certain kind of sense.

“Do you want me to do this?” he asked.

Winona had been pulling away from him, her eyes sad and haunted when she looked at him. The older he got, the more he looked like George--a fact that was not lost on Jim. He tried to keep her happy--he’s just not sure he knew how.

She sighed. “I think they need you. And if they can push this through--it’ll save lives.”

Jim nods. “Ok.”

 

~*~

 

It’s not one hearing.

Jim didn’t realize that, when he agreed to be the bright shiny face for a movement.

And sure it would save lives, but escape pods built into the bridge were expensive. Especially when ships weren’t destroyed _that_ often.

The lobbyist trotted him out, told stories about a little boy lonely for a father who’d died a hero. Took holovids of a life staged to garner sympathy. Jim, the gorgeous baby that arrived on earth screaming now stared woefully from screens across the galaxy and support for the pods skyrocketed.

It took almost two years, and in the end, it was half a win. New ships would be equipped with the Kelvin pods--on the bridge.

Older ships would be equipped as they went through refits.

It wasn’t everything they wanted. But the pods were named after the _Kelvin_ and Jim was interviewed and congratulated and asked how he felt about the win.

No one cared about the truth--the sick feeling of guilt and rage in him that made him angrier, that made him drive Sam away, drive Winona away.

He could save strangers, but he couldn’t save his father.

 

~*~

 

Jim knew. He was a smart kid. He figured out, early, that _what_ he was mattered a hell of a lot more to the universe at large than _who_ he was.

Winona going back to the black--well that just confirmed it for him.

~*~

 

Frank was the first to show Jim that being the _Kelvin_ Baby wasn’t _all_ sad holovids and invasive interviews.

It was a year after Tarsus, when Jim was still scrawny and furious. Still angry that Winona was in the black and Sam refused to come home. Still angry that Erin was dead and Starfleet wouldn't tell him where the fuck Kevin or Thomas were.

Frank was hands off at the best of times and violent at the worst, and Jim was just angry enough to fight back, which seemed to amuse his uncle more than it did anything else.

So when his birthday rolled around, and the holovids came calling, they found the house empty.

Frank took Jim to The Liftoff and told the bartender who Jim was.

It was the first time Jim had been drunk, and Frank laughed until he cried, watching Jim choke on whiskey bought by well meaning strangers who thought they knew him.

"Kid, the galaxy watched when you were born. They care about you," Frank said.

Jim shook his head, crystal clear on this even when his head was spinning and his stomach was churning. He spat into the toilet, and growled. "No they don't. They care about what they think I am."

Frank stared at the back of his hunched shoulders, and thought that this kid was fucked up in every way imaginable, trailing chaos and heartbreak, and he was still the smartest little shit he'd ever met.

If he didn't resent him so much, he might actually like Jim.

"Dammit, Jim, do you have to get smarter when you're drunk?" he grumbled, and dragged the kid to bed, pouring him and retreating to his own room where he lay staring at the spinny ceiling and wondered what the hell he was doing taking care of a angry kid who was smarter than him.

 

~*~

 

By the time he was eighteen, Jim was tired.

He spent more time in strangers' beds than he did his own,  more time drunk than he did sober, more time in prison than out.

He was smart enough to know he was running, and just stupid enough to refuse to admit what he was running from.

 

~*~

 

It was funny. He had spent his entire life living in the shadow of a dead man and a destroyed ship. He had hated it and loved it and used it, and when none of that worked, he ran from it.

But he had never been there.

Winona hated it. Jim thought she pretended it didn't exist, because then she could pretend George was just on a mission. Sam didn't go near the place, not when he was with Jim--George belonged to Sam and Winona and Jim had no right to him.

So visiting the grave of a man he didn't know was never high on Jim's list of things to do. He sometimes wanted to visit Tim and Hailey's grave, but they didn't have one.

So he sat on the ground and stared at the stone of a man he never knew and who he couldn't escape.

He came here because he told his prison doctor he would, before he got drunk. He liked the guy, a grumpy bastard who cared in a caustic way that Jim had never experienced before.

He still had no fucking clue why, or what he was supposed to say.

"Whadya say to the guy who ruined your life, huh, Dad? I know. You saved me. Saved eight hundred people. Saved us all. Fucking hero of the fucking Federation."

He tipped his drink back, taking a long pull from his bottle of Jack.

"Fucked me over real good, though. Eighteen years, and you know what people see when they look at me? A screaming blue eyed boy in a widow's arms. That's all anyone will ever see, George. So what the fuck am I supposed to do? Where do I go from here?" He laughed and finished the bottle. "Nowhere to go, George. Only place I got out from under your goddamn shadow was Tarsus and even if I hate you, I've got some self preservation."

He wanted to rage. Now that he was here, now that he was talking. But all he felt was tired.  "I'm so fucking tired, Dad." he said, and he stretched out on the grass, staring up at the stars. "Tim taught me about them, you know. I think he thought it's what you'd want." He laughed, and shrugged. "Or maybe he just knew I liked them."

He stared at the stars until they faded away, and fell asleep there, next to a man he never got the chance to know.

 

~*~

 

He got the invitation halfway through his second year in the Academy.

He shoved it into his desk and promptly drug his roommate out, drinking Bones under the table and going home with a pair of _very_ friendly twins from Brazil. By the time he recovered from that, and dodged the increasingly hopeful comms from the twins, he’d actually forgotten the invitation.

Which, of course, was when Bones slapped it down into his open Applied Warp Theory and Mechanics book.

Jim blinked at it. Blinked again. Then huffed a sigh. "Dammit, why were you in my desk?"

"Fuck why. What the hell is this?"

Jim sighed. "It's a wedding invitation, Bones. If you can't read, you really shouldn't be a doctor, you know."

Bones snarled, wordless, and Jim offered up a quick grin.

"Who the hell is Sam?"

The thing Jim really loved about Bones--well, among other things--is that he never knew or cared about Jim being the _Kelvin_ Baby. The only reason he cared was that the holovids had a field day when they realized the _Kelvin_ Baby was in the Academy.  The pictures they got of Jim wrestling an irate, half dressed Bones back into their apartment circled the news cycles and gossip sites for weeks, along with rampant speculation about the sex life of the man the galaxy watched grow up.

"That," Bones had snapped, after a week or two, finally talking to Jim again, "is just fucking creepy."

Jim had just grinned and drank his coffee.

"Sam's my older brother," he said now, nudging the invite aside and refocusing on his text.

"And you haven't responded to this because--?"

"Because my brother hates me, I haven't seen him since I was thirteen and I don't really think crashing his wedding is the right thing to do."

Bones was quiet for a moment, and then, "Jim--"

"Bones, drop it." Jim said, and Bones sighed.

He did, but not permanently. He brought it up again over dinner--burnt pasta and how the hell did Bones burn _pasta_?--and two days after that, while Jim was almost running into class, Bones matching him stride for stride. He brought it up in front of Gaila, and in the mess hall where Chekov could weigh in, and when they're drinking and when he's helping a very drunk, very grumpy Jim into bed.

"If I agree to go, will you fucking drop it?" Jim grumbled, drunken slurred, into his pillow.

"Yes."

"Fine. I'll fucking go, Dad."

Agreeing to things when he's drunk was a bad idea. Something that became extremely fucking clear when he opened his messages the next day, and saw a confirmation for his RSVP.

He glared up at Bones, who didn’t even have the decency to look abashed.

"You're a bastard," Jim informed him. "And you're coming with me."

The wedding was quiet. Private. It was a laid back, secluded thing that felt much grander than it actually was, and left Jim with a confusing warmth in his gut.

It was very like Sam, he considered, watching his brother pledge his life to a tiny girl with bright purple hair and a wide wide smile.

Only two holovids crashed the reception, and Jim counted that as a win because he was in fucking England, a country he never visited and one that was almost rabid in its pursuit of gossip.

He sat at his table, and flirted, half hearted, with a few girls, while Bones brooded over the institution of marriage and looked at pictures of Jojo.

"You came."

The voice was just like George's. Kirk knew that voice, after years of listening to audio of his father's last moments, and the classes Starfleet insisted on that he couldn't audit out of.

He forced a smile and turned to look at his brother. "Yeah. Of course."

"Aurlean was excited," Sam said, throwing a look at his wife. Something soft slipped over his face and he grinned at Jim, unexpectedly. "We both are."

Jim stared at his brother, a little startled and the other man gave him a half shrug. "I'm sorry, Jimmy."

It wasn’t much. After all these years, it was barely anything. But he'd made his peace with George, and had an uneasy truce with Frank.

Winona lived in the stars, running as hard from ghosts as Jim did and he’d made peace that he’s never going to understand her.

He nodded at Sam. "Yeah, me too."

It got him a smile, weak but real and hopeful.

 

~*~

 

He lived under a shadow and always would. But there was some peace to it. Some comfort in knowing what everyone in the galaxy thought of him, expected of him.

There was peace--hard earned and fragile--even for a child born to chaos and the stars.


	7. Chapter 7

**Part VII: The Stuff of Legend**

 

There’s a shift.

A deliberate withdrawal. He is many things, but he will never take advantage of someone under his command. Loving Spock, after all, is his problem. Certainly not Spock’s and Kirk saw no reason to dump it on the guy. Especially since they were finally starting to act like  _ friends _ and not just two people who worked together.

So he pulls away, spends more time with Bones, tries to forget that there’s a man on this ship who captures him with a barely there twitch of the lips and a curious tilt of the head.

 

~*~

 

Spock notices.

Not right away--there’s about a month before Kirk realizes that Spock is bracing himself, every time he approaches the captain about working on paperwork together, or chess. Like he knows he’s going to be rejected, and forces himself to ask anyway.

Jim hates himself for the way Spock’s expression goes wounded and bruised when he does turn him down--it’s chess this time, but he can’t, he  _ can’t _ sit across from Spock for hours, listening to him. Spock would figure it out in seconds.

There’s a stiff nod, and a retreat and Kirk beelines for Sickbay, throws himself on the sharp edged concern of his best friend and the numbing agent he keeps in the bottom of his desk.

“Love sucks,” Jim informs the swirling amber in his glass, much later, and Bones hums an agreement that only depresses him more.

 

~*~

 

It takes less time than Jim expected, and still more time than he wants. Spock allows them to linger in this strange place of professionalism and distance for six months.

So it’s startling to open the door of his quarters in the middle of the night to find Spock there, in standard issue black pants and a fitted t shirt and a frown.

He looks alien, unfamiliar and breathtaking. His feet are bare and the height distance between them is noticeably smaller, even as slight as it is.

For a brief, panicked second, Jim is sure he'll do something completely idiotic, like yank Spock closer and kiss the life outta him.

He forces himself a step back and fixed a bland smile on his face. “Mr. Spock. What can I do for you?”

Spock steps into the cabin and watches Jim retreat, and then, very stiffly. “I have completed a transfer request. I wished to apprise you of it before sending it to you for approval.”

Spock is talking and Jim can  _ hear  _ the words but they don't make any sense, all he's getting is--

“You want to  _ transfer?” _

“Sir,” Spock says, his spine even straighter than it had been two seconds ago, and Jim didn’t even know that was  _ possible _ . “You are clearly displeased with my preformance. I would prefer to serve a captain who does not find my service distasteful and allow you the privilege of working with someone you are compatible with.”

“But...Spock, we’re a great command team. Even Bones thinks so and he’s fucking allergic to saying nice things.”

“I believe we are an exemplary command team, yes.”

“But you want to leave.” Jim says, and even saying the words makes his stomach clench and turn. Spock stands still and silent.

“Is it me? Did I do something?” Jim asks, a little helpless.

Spock makes a move, then, a half-step forward. “Jim,” he says, and god, his name in Spock’s mouth, it’s-- _ everything. _ “No. I overstepped my bounds, and expect--I expected too much. More than you are able to give.”

“I can give you more,” Jim says, and he he knows he sounds pathetic, but he can’t help it. Isn’t even sure he wants to.

Spock hesitates, and then, carefully. “Why do we never play chess anymore?”

Oh.

Shit.

Kirk sighs. He could lie. Part of him--the part that is terrified of how Spock will react--wants to lie.

“Spock, I am your friend. I forget, sometimes, that  _ all  _ we are is friends. I just needed a little time to remember.”

He waits, watching Spock puzzle through that, and then, “You wished for more from our relationship?”

Jim shrugs. Lays it out there because if Spock is leaving, what does he have to lose? “I’m greedy, Spock. I want everything.”

Spock is silent and then, “I have missed our games, Captain.”

_ Captain.  _ Not Jim. He tries very hard to not be hurt by that.

“If you leave, you’ll never get to play chess with me, Spock.”

A tiny tilt of his lips. “Something that would greatly displease me.”

 

~*~

 

If Spock is disturbed by Jim’s feelings, he doesn't say. He slips back into Kirk's life and free time like he had never left, filling their few duty free hours with quiet company while Jim read or good-natured debates over long games of chess.

Sometimes, Kirk thought his gaze lingered, dark and inscrutable and warm, somehow, but when he blinked, it was always his friend and first officer, steady and solid, staring back at him.

 

~*~

 

They are two years into their mission when they meet the Seti, race of humanoids with distinctly canine manners and social structure. They were interesting with a culturally rich heritage that the anthropologist were itching to study.

They were also sitting on a planet right in the middle of a trade route, and Starfleet wanted them. Badly.

“We will not treat with you.”

It was the Seti alpha, a male creature with an impressive set of teeth and a shaggy grey coat and absolute disdain in his eyes for Kirk and Spock. “You are not mated.”

Kirk looked at Spock, standing at his shoulder and then shook his head, “No. We’re not--”

“We will not treat with you.” From the female now, just as firm.

Spock leans in and murmurs, “The Seti will only conduct diplomatic dealings with mated partners.”

“Then why the fuck did Command send us?”

Spock raises an eyebrow and Jim heaves a slight sigh. Refocuses on the Seti.

“Unfortunately, we’re all you have,” Jim says, smiling the slightly dangerous smile that scares new ensigns into good behavior and keeps the Romulans on their side of the Neutral Zone.

“Then we have nothing further to discuss.”

The female makes a low noise in her throat, and turns to her mate. “If they were to mate, Alpha, we could speak with them.”

His head tilts, and Spock makes a tiny movement at Kirk’s side and the Seti turn to them, a canine smile baring wide, wicked teeth.

“You will mate. And then we will proceed.”

Kirk feels something close to a hysterical laugh building in his throat, because he’s pretty sure the crazy dog people want him to marry his First Officer and, “That is not possible.” Jim says, polite, hysteria in his voice.

“It is the only option,” the Alpha protests.

“I’m afraid that we cannot simply marry each other because of your social norms.”

“Why?” the female asks, her tone curious.

“Because of our own societal norms,” Kirk says, firmly.

The alpha looks at his mate, and Spock steps closer, impossibly, “Captain.”

“Shut up,” Kirk grits out, and Spock’s lips press into a sharp line, a sure sign he’s pissed.

Well, so is Kirk.

It takes another two hours to convince the Seti that no, Kirk would not in fact marry his First over a fucking trade route, and two after that for the Seti to concede that they would not do buisness with them. By the time the away team beams back to the Enterprise Kirk is a vibrating ball of tension, Spock is snapping at everyone around them, and the security team clears out of the transport room almost before they finish beaming up.

“Spock, take the con, and have Uhura get Starfleet on the line. I wanna know who the hell sent us into that mission with shitty intel.”

Spock doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t leave either, trailing Kirk through the ship like a furious avenging angel, crowding Kirk into his quarters.

“What the hell, Spock?” Kirk yelps, stumbling. A hot hand wraps around his arm, jerking him upright when Kirk would have fallen, propelling him into the room.

“Why?” Spock snaps.

“Why  _ what,  _ you cryptic asshole,” Jim snarks and Spock snarls.

“You sabotaged our diplomatic mission, and hurt the Federation in the process.  _ Why?” _

“You didn’t actually expect me to let the dog people  _ marry _ us.”

“Ceremonial marriage is common in missions such as ours,” Spock says, stiffly.

Kirk stares at him, and then laughs. Because yeah. It’s happened on so many missions, to so many ships, that it’s almost a rite of passage for a command team to be married by nice aliens who didn’t understand their cultural norms didn’t apply to everyone in the galaxy. There was an air of resignation to it when talked about on starbases and at ‘fleet headquarters.

“No.” Kirk says, shaking his head. “We aren’t doing that.”

“Is the idea of being tied to me so distasteful that you would disobey orders and risk a trade agreement merely to avoid such a union, ceremonial though it may be?” Spock snaps, and there’s something in his voice besides anger, something fragile.

“Are you really that blind, Spock?” Kirk spits. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“ _ Yes,”  _ Spock hisses, stalking forward, invading the space Kirk has carved out for himself. “Explain yourself, Captain.”

“I want you too fucking much to do that. To let it become a mockery and a joke, a thing for the amusement of a race that I know nothing about and care for even less. I won’t fucking do it, Spock. Not like that.”

He pushes at Spock, desperate for space, and Spock catches his wrists, iron tight and hot and implacable. Kirk shudders and shakes his head. “Not like that,” he says again, and this time, his voice is drained. Tired. Empty.

“You,” Spock says, sweeping his thumb carefully over the soft skin of Kirk’s wrist, “are an idiot.”

And then he dips down, and kisses Kirk.

For a long moment, as Spock's lips press, hard and burning hot, to Jim's, he's frozen, startled into stillness. And then long fingers squeeze his wrists, release him to thread into his hair and Spock murmurs something between them, soft and Vulcan and pressed into his lips, and not even in his wildest dreams did Jim expect him to sound that gentle.

He makes a noise, something that can only be called a whimper, as Spock licks at his lips, a silent request, his mouth opening on a soft sigh.

Spock kisses like he does everything--intensely, with a nerve rattling focus and a dose of curiosity that nearly drives Kirk to his knees. He kisses gently, licking into Kirk's mouth, and making the quietest noises, his fingers flexing in Jim's hair.

It's intoxicating, to be the object of all that attention, and Kirk groans into it, drunk on the taste of him--something like spicy incense and wild winds--and the rough rub of his tongue in Kirk's mouth.

His fingers, digging into Spock's hip, and when the hell did he shove Spock's shirt up to get to too hot skin? flex, imagining the rough glide of that tongue on other body parts.

Spock breaks the kiss with a gasp, an almost scandalized, "Captain!"

"Spock," Jim hums into his skin, licking over the long curve of his throat, "you just had your tongue in my mouth. I think you can call me Jim."

"You want my tongue in decidedly different places," Spock says, almost accusing, and shifts, lifting Jim.

Which isn't hot. Really. Jim's a man, a starship Captain, for fuck's sake, and being lifted like a goddamn ragdoll by his first officer--it's not hot.

Which doesn't quite explain the way his legs wrap around Spock, the way he grinds against him, and fights to keep from coming as Spock carries him easily to the bed.

"Lying to yourself is a bad habit, Jim," Spock says, and Kirk smiles at him from his bed, golden bright against the dark sheets and blanket.

"You should have allowed the Seti their ceremony," Spock murmurs, crawling onto the bed and kissing him, gently.

"I...Spock, I can't do that. Not with you."

Spock's fingers drift, a hot caress, over his skin. His breath stutters in his chest when he picks up the thought Kirk can't bring him to say.

_ I want it too much to fake it. Never let you go, if we did. Not fair. Not gonna trap you with me like that _ .

Spock takes a breath, his eyes bright and burning and he kisses Jim again. Hungry and deep and filthy, licking into his mouth as Jim writhes on the bed, and Spock pins him with one careless hand, and cups him through his uniform pants, eating up the cry Jim gives up, sweet and sharp and broken.

"If you will not mate with me in a meaningless Seti ceremony," Spock murmurs, "Perhaps you should bond with me in a Vulcan one."


	8. Chapter 8

**Part VIII: The Genocide of the Thrasians**

 

_Aueceri VI was made of two primary races. The psychic natives of the region Crata, the Craterins. And the simpler natives of the Thrasi._

_It was an ocean planet, with the two amphibious races carving space out of the small continents. They were, when the Federation made First Contact, largely content to ignore the other. The Thrasi kept to the ocean and their small villages. The Crati devoted themselves to technology and science, returning to the ocean only as biological imperatives required. They negotiated on behalf of their Thrasi counterparts when entering the Federation._

_The Federation wanted access to the oceans, to the mineral rich ocean floor. It proved to be a very profitable arrangement for both the Aueceri races and the Federation--_

Jim tossed the PADD down and scowled at Spock. “Cut the bullshit. What the actual fuck is happening?”

“Approximately three months ago, the continent occupied by the Crati was made uninhabitable by a volcanic explosion. There was very little loss of life, as the Crati _are_ amphibious. But they are a largely land dwelling race at this time, and they quickly looked to the sole remaining land mass for resettlement.”

Jim’s gaze goes flat. “The land held by the Thrasi.”

Spock nods, and Jim laughs. “And what? They decided that they’d kill the Thrasi to hold that land? Why the fuck can’t they share it?”

“The land mass is roughly the size of the North American continent,” Spock says. “And the population of the Crati and Thrasi is near four billion.”

“There isn’t enough room,” Jim says, his heart squeezing. “Fuck.”

Spock inclined his head. “Indeed.”

“That doesn’t give the Crati the right to just begin a damn genocide.”

“They believe themselves to be superior, because of their psychic abilities and their advanced technology. That belief validates their ‘right’.” Spock says and Jim’s mouth opens, fury flashing in his eyes. “It is not a logical course of thought. Being a primitive culture does not constitute a lack of value.”

Jim relaxes, and Spock watches him, patient. Understanding and love pulse along the bond, warming Jim when he was beginning to think nothing could, and he sends a quick apology in return.

“Ok, so we’re here to stop it.”

Spock hesitates and then carefully, “We are here to protect the Federation’s interests.”

Kirk goes still, getting the sharp unease from Spock through their bond. He glares at the dirty courtyard outside the Command headquarters. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

Anyone else would dodge. Couch it in some way to make it a little more palatable.

Spock’s not anyone else. He never has been. There is, however, genuine regret in his voice when he says, “No, Jim, you are not.”

He swallows his curse and nods at Spock to continue. “The Thrasi are not the Federation’s concerns. They are primitive and content to remain in their oceans. Our dealings have been strictly with the Crati. As envoys of the Federation, ordered here to protect their interests--our duty lies with the Crati. We are not here to end a genocide.”

For a second, Jim just stares, and then he laughs. “No. You’re--Spock, no.”

Spock is silent, patient, and Jim laughs again, bitterly this time. “So we let these bastards commit genocide because we care about a fucking mineral.”

“Jim, the mineral is used in terraforming.”

“Then terraform a fucking continent for the bastards killing the Thrasi!”

Even as he says it, he knows they can’t. That terraforming will change the makeup of the planet, destroy the heptalite _._

Fuck.

“I won’t condone this. I can’t, Spock.” Jim says, desperately. Even here, in the room the Crati High Council escorted them to, he can taste the ash on the air.

It’s a floating film on the ocean he can see, discoloring the creamy water and turning it grey.

“Get Command on the line. I want to know what the hell they’re thinking.

 

~*~

 

It takes an hour, a twitchy, angry hour, for Uhura to get a line back to Starfleet, and patch it down to Jim on the planet. Admiral Nogura stared back, and some of Jim’s anger eased just a little. “Sir.”

“What do you need, Captain?” he says, a little shorter than Jim anticipates, and he has to check the urge to frown.

“There’s been some more information on distress signal out of Aueceri VI. We thought it best to advise Starfleet.”

Nogura sighs. “Protect Federation interests, Jim. That’s what you’re there for. If the natives want to destroy each other, that’s their choice.”

“You know.” Jim says, and Nogura has the grace to look a little disconcerted. “You know and you’re not stopping it.”

“We can’t stop every genocide in the galaxy, Jim.”

“You aren’t even _trying_.”

Nogura snorts. “You want to try, kid? Go for it. See how far diplomacy gets you with psychic fish people. See if you can convince them to share the very small piece of land with the Thrasi.”

“What, the Crati don’t want to share, so the Thrasi get to die? Are you even hearing yourself?” Jim demands, and Spock sends a sharp caution to him. He grits his teeth and chokes down his protests.

Nogura sighs. “I don't like it. But you've got your orders.”

Kirk nods, reluctant and Nogura signs off.

Spock watches him, familiar warm concern. “What will you do?”

Kirk shrugs. “What I do best.”

 

~*~

 

He has held peace talks with races who had spent centuries killing each other.

He has made First Contact with over twenty races.

He has negotiated trade agreements and mining rights and colonist settlements.

He has presided over eight trials on the _Enterprise_ and acted as the unofficial ambassador to the remains of Vulcan.

He has played politics and poster boy and first line of defense.

But nothing he says influences the Crati. They watch him with blank glassy eyes and dismiss his concerns, not even bothering to address him. “They are a proud race, Captain. They view those without an equal telepathic ability to be less than themselves.” Spock explains.

“Then you explain it,” Kirk snaps.

Spock gives him a mild look, “I have tried.”

Kirk spends the night wrapped up in Spock’s arms and very very drunk.

It doesn't help. He can still taste ash.

 

~*~

 

Kirk stands with Spock, a few feet from the High Council. They’re watching the waves with interest, completely ignoring the Starfleet Captain and First Officer.

Jim isn’t watching the waves. His gaze is riveted on the fire.

It’s massive, stretching almost eight meters, with Crati corpses stacked almost as tall as Kirk.

They burn three times a day, in six locations on the continent.

_How many?_

Spock studies the fire for a long moment and then, _Ashayam, do not ask this of me._

“Mr. Spock.” Stiffer, formal, a command from his captain.

“Accounting for change in body mass, they burn between ten and twelve point five  thousand bodies a week.”

Jim almost throws up. The number is...obscene. Even in six months, Kodos could only kill around five thousand.

The Crati do that in three _days_.

Grief and rage fill him, fill the bond and he watches the green flames consuming the bodies while the Crati watch the waves, unconcerned. A thick film of ash clung to the vibrant waters, turning the milky white a dirty grey.

When the Thrasi emerged from the waves, coated in the ash of their kind, they were immediately captured and executed.

They are granted a quick death. It is best for all--the Thrasi will never reach for more than the waves and their simple tools.

“They’re a race of people,” Kirk protests. “A sentient life form with their own culture and tradition and rights. Killing them--it’s _wrong_.”

**What is wrong for you, Captain, is survival for us. The Crati cannot return to the waves.**

_When the_ Narda _destroyed Vulcan, the Colony did not seek to inhabit space already claimed by a sentient life form. The built a home that took from no one._ Spock interjects.

**You would propose we leave Aueceri?**

“Yes,” Jim snarls.

**Your Federation would lose their mines here.**

He wants to tell them to go fuck themselves, and their goddamn mines. He wants to tell them Starfleet would never stand for this.

 _Jim._ Gently, with a swell of reassurance and comfort that makes Jim’s fingers twitch toward the Vulcan.

_I know, Spock._

He can’t say either, so he stays stubbornly silent as the flames lick higher and the wind twists over the waves.

 

~*~

 

The Crati are a broken record of inflexibility, so Kirk turns his attention elsewhere.

The Thrasi have one settlement that the Crati have not raided. He takes Sulu and half their security, ignoring Spock’s disapproving frown.

 _This is reckless._ Spock says, as Jim prepares to board the _Galileo_

 _We don’t have a lot of choices,_ Jim says. _The Crati won’t even talk to me._

Spock is silent, worry and fear edging through his shields, cooling the bond and making Jim shiver.

He always hates when Jim puts himself in danger, but this--this feels like _more_.

“I’m going to be fine, Spock,” Jim says, and he leans up, kissing his bondmate quickly before he steps back.

Spock’s arm around his waist stops him, reels him back for a deeper kiss, fingers coming up to cradle Jim’s jaw as he licks and bites at the pale pink of Jim’s mouth. Until the tension slides away and Jim sighs, relaxing into Spock’s embrace, returning the kiss that is familiar and comforting and rapidly turning filthy.

Kirk is laughing when he pulls away and he grins up at Spock. “What was that for?”

“A reminder that you belong to me,” Spock murmurs, softly. “Be careful with what is mine.”

Kirk kinda wants to kiss him again.

Instead, he nods and Spock releases him. When Kirk steps away, he’s wearing the Captain’s face again, and he ducks into the _Galileo_ without looking back at Spock.

“Let’s go, Sulu,” he calls and the door closes behind him.

 

~*~

 

The Thrasi have a settlement on a island in the massive white water ocean of the northern hemisphere. It’s a small thing, small enough that the Crati have dismissed it as useless, and the Thrasi, desperate for any land that wouldn’t lead directly into a death trap, latched onto it. As Sulu circles the small island, Jim feels his stomach lurch. Everywhere, there is smoke and the glassy eyed stare of trauma.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and hears a low hum of agreement from the security behind him.

“Captain,” Sulu begins, and he nods.

“We’re gonna help them, Sulu. Just. be careful putting us down.”

The helmsman nods, and sets the shuttlecraft down on a rocky outcropping. The Thrasi are watching, and Jim feels a single spike of worry, quickly shoved down.. These people are being killed, they’re traumatized and scared, and he’s got no reason to fear them.

Nodding to himself, he leads his people off the shuttle.

Three Thrasi males are waiting for him. They’re similar to their Crati cousins, slender and sleek humanoids with brightly hued skin, gills under their chins and on the sidses of their necks, wide, webbed hands and feet.

A race as comfortable in the water as they are on land.

“You are not Crati,” one says, sharply. His voice is sibilant and accusing and Jim shakes his head. It sounds like waves, the soft hiss of them against a fading shore.

“I’m Captain James T. Kirk, of the USS _Enterprise._ I’m here on behalf of the Federation--”

A sharp cry rings through the Thrasi listening and he’s got one second to realize that this was a mistake before they attack, a swarm of angry frightened beings, dragging them away from each other and into the waves. There’s a split second glimpse of Ensign Roberts, his head bleeding, his eyes wide and terrified before the waters swallow him.

Jim’s last thought, before the white, sour waters close around him and something heavy slams into his face, is that Spock is going to be _pissed_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Part IX Vulcan Logic**

 

He wakes slowly. The dream was a good one, and he can feel, still, the warmth of Spock, wrapped around him. For a moment, he doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to roll over to find the bed empty.

The bond feels fuzzy in his head. He reaches for Spock and finds--”Shit.”

Stumbling a little on legs that are still, even after two months on New Vulcan, annoyingly weak. Bones says his progress is better than he has any right to expect. Jim thinks Bones is going soft in his old age.

He tugs on some clothes, rough denim scratching his sensitive skin, a loose t shirt that smells of sand and incense, before making his slow way downstairs.

Salek is alone this time, his familiar face creasing into a smile, when he sees Jim. It occurs to him that the name he adopted so long ago never fit him.

“You’re early today, Spock,” Jim says and the bond twinges in his head. He flinches, confusion flaring along it.

Spock is silent, the bond drifting emptily and his gut churns.

“Jim,” the Ambassador says, gently, pulling his attention back to now. To the man who is so like  _ his _ Spock, but isn’t.

“Sorry,” he says, giving a weak smile. “What were you saying?”

“Your bond. It’s troubling you.” Salek says. Jim flushes. Spock and the ambassador are similar, two sides of the same coin. The bond shouldn’t have resonated with Salek--but then, Salek shouldn’t be here. They coped with it--but it had never been like  _ this.  _ It’s never been this strange distance from Spock and the bright hot feel of Salek, painful and familiar in his mind.

“What’s happening,” Jim mumbles and Salek sighs.

“My friend, you should see the healers.”

It’s the same thing he’d been chanting for two months. Jim scowls at him, “I’ve got a healer. Bones is doing just fine.”

“Even my Dr. McCoy understood that some things were beyond his skills, Jim. He cannot help you with this.”

“Spock helps me.”

The bond shudders again, and the headache that’s been steadily spiking since his eyes opened stabs. Hard enough that he curls into himself.

Distantly, he can hear Salek and McCoy, can hear the panic threading through McCoy’s shouting, a loud counterpart to Salek’s smooth concern.

_ Spock, what’s happening? _

The touch, butterfly soft, is so faint and blunted he almost doesn’t feel it. But. There---

He gasps, reaching for it, the light of stars and promise of black empty spaces, the space that has always been his home, the place where he has always found Spock.

The bond flares, bright and strong around him, the fuzzy edges burning away as he leans into the chaotic starscape, into the place that is his and Spock’s.

_ I am here, Jim. _

The voice is soothing and there is none of the anger he’s come to expect, and that more than anything scares him.

_ You want me to go with Salek. _

A hesitation, and the feeling of fingers, threading into his. Spock drifts closer, and here, Jim drinks him in, lets himself drown in the beauty of his Vulcan.

_ You are not well, ashayam. _

There is a sharp spike of anger, the first that Jim has allowed himself.  _ How the hell would you know, Spock? You aren’t around me enough to know if I’m well or dying. _

A flare of a star going supernova, hot amusement flashing through them.  _ You are upset with me. _

_ Fuck you, you don’t get to laugh at me right now,  _ Jim snaps back, but it’s more habit than heat, already curling into Spock’s loose embrace.

_ The Thrasi didn’t fuck with my head, Spock. The bond is fine.  _ Jim adds as Spock strokes his fingers. 

A huff of stardust laughter tinged green with worry.  _ Please, Jim. _

Jim catches Spock’s hand, squeezes his fingers in a desperate grip.  _ Promise you’ll stop being so angry? _

There is a moment of hesitation, and then,  _ I will try, t’hy’la. If you will, I shall do the same. _

It was enough, for now.

_ Ok. I’ll go. _

 

~*~

 

The healers scare him.

After eleven years in space, countless planets and hostile lifeforms, James T. could say that was a hard thing to achieve. But the mind healers of New Vulcan--they did.

He was used to his head being his, a place he shared with Spock and no one else, a place where all of the shard of his past came together to form  _ him _ , and exposed him in a way he didn't want to share.

Even now, ten years bonded to Spock, he has panicked moments when he feels painfully exposed.

To let a stranger in, to peel back the layers of masks so they could view his chaos--it terrified him.

“They merely will examine your bond,” Salek reminds him.

“It's fine. They said it was fine when we were bonded,” Jim complains. He's pacing and his breathing is short, choppy. This happens sometimes, when he gets too worked up--Bones says that he was allergic to something in the Auecerian ocean, and his lungs threw a bitch fit when he decided to swallow half of it after they dragged him under.

Right now, it's only a reminder that he's weak and a stranger is going to poke around in his head and he is alone.

_ I am here, ashaya. _

He clutches that promise like a talisman, let the warmth of the bond and Spock’s quiet murmur carry him into the dimly lit room.

The healer is surprisingly young, a female Vulcan with shining dark hair held back by a series of braids. She nods at him. “James Kirk. Sit.”

Awkwardly, he comes and lowers himself onto the mat across from where she kneels.

“Ambassador Salek claims your bond is troubled. That your mind has been uneasy since you were captured and tortured.”

Jim shrugs. “It never acts right, when we’re on New Vulcan. It likes the Ambassador too much.”

Her eyebrows raise, a little, and then, “If you will allow me access to your mind.”

He nods and her hand comes up. It feels different--familiar and strange, her fingers smaller and lighter than Spock’s, but the pressure is comforting, and the smooth words reminds him of those days before they bonded, and then--

V'laik is a cool intrusion, drifting along the surface of his mind, and he  struggles to not flinch. To keep his mental shields lowered as she peers curiously at him.

His mind is strange. Spock’s mental space has always been neatly ordered paths in the garden of his childhood home. Quiet and easy to slip through.

Jim's is a maze of a farm in Iowa, twisting tunnels of purple creeper, endless corridors of the  _ Enterprise,  _ doors upon doors opening into worlds and memories and the twisting paths of his psyche. There is no logic, no order to be found there, a maze that circles ever closer to the bond.

If V’laik is disturbed by it, she doesn't say.

She touches Tarsus and his childhood, cool glances that makes him squirm before she moves on.

The bond pulses, fuzzy where it has always been vibrant starlight and endless space, and V’laik circles it. She's shielded, a polite wall that lets nothing but detached curiosity through, and he shrinks back, against Spock’s comforting presence in his mind.

_ She is only here to see, Jim,  _ he offers, a shallow comfort.

_ I don't have to like it. _

V’laik shifts and looks at him. She is frowning, as much as a Vulcan ever frowns.  _ Who are you talking to? _

Jim tenses, sharp edged memories building, twisting them into a tunnel of creeper. Dust drifts around them and Spock is gone, the bond a faint curled promise hidden away.

_ Spock. Who else? _

Her head tilts and he  _ feels- _

Shock pain denial sympathy pity-

Jim gags fighting the meld, throws up bulkhead walls to keep her out, to push away those feelings but-

_ James. Look. _

She brushes the walls away, and a door on the  _ Enterprise  _ opens in his mind, and Jim can  _ see. _

The memory wraps around him like a fist, pulls him in before he can scream a protest.


	10. Chapter 10

**Part X The Ghost of Command**

 

He was familiar with death. He was born in space, the first sounds he heard screaming alarms and his father dying.

Death was as familiar as his mother’s hand. More so--she left, fled back to space, got lost in duty, and death stayed. Death haunted his steps on Tarsus, became as comfortable a friend as Kevin, curled into his side.

It has been the only constant in his life.

But nothing prepared him for Vulcan. For Nero.

For command.

 

~*~

 

The first time someone died on an away mission, they were three months into a series of diplomatic milk runs. They weren’t supposed to detour--but Uhura’s people picked up a distress signal from Emueri Prime, an M class planet with a small Federation colony.

They have orders, Spock reminded Kirk, when Communications passed the signal to Uhura on the bridge.

“They need help,” Kirk said, brilliant smile in place. “Lt. Uhura, anyone else in hailing distance.”

“Negative, Captain.”

Kirk shrugged to his sternly disapproving Vulcan officer. “We kinda have to help. Regs--”

“I am aware of Starfleet regulations, Captain,” Spock answered stiffly.

He won but as Spock stalked back to his station, it did not feel like a victory.

 

~*~

 

When they beamed down to investigate the distress signal, directly into a nest of pirates who’ve taken over the colony, it feels even less like a victory. They’re being shot at before they even finish materializing, and later, Jim will tell himself that’s why.

That no one could have stopped it because they weren’t even _there,_ not really, they were still being put back together, when a phaser blast hit Ensign Jacobs.

He’ll tell himself, when he’s throwing up in the bathroom he shared with Spock, the death notification open on his desk, and he won’t believe it then anymore than he does the first time he says it, a little desperately, in the dirty Emueri Prime cave the pirates shove them into.

 

~*~

 

Spock tried to find him, the next day. He was silent during alpha shift, sitting unnaturally still in the command chair, not engaging his officers as they went about their duties. As soon as the shift ended, he abandoned the bridge and the crew, slipping into the endless twisting halls until Spock lost track of him.

Jim knew his ship, had spent countless hours, learning her, and he used that knowledge, vanishing into the twisting halls and crawling into Jefferies tubes, until he was so lost that even he wasn’t sure where he was.

He knew that Spock was searching for him, that McCoy was worried.

He just wasn’t quite ready to face them. Wasn’t ready for the concern and the _guilt is illogical, captain_ and the Southern tinted wisdom that didn’t actually help.

He hid in the tubes, curled around his knees, and wished that there was a small body pressed close, so he didn’t feel so alone.

 

~*~

 

He can’t hide forever, but he stayed longer than anyone expected.

Tarsus taught him how to stay small and still when he was threatened, and he doesn’t do it often, but it’s not a skill he forgot.

When he crawled out of the Jefferies tube and made his way back to his quarters, dusty tired and sore, he wonders how long before Spock found him and forced him to talk.

 

~*~

 

Spock was waiting in his quarters, still and patient, folded on the floor in meditation. For a moment, standing in the door, he considered bolting.

Instead, he forced himself into the room, and Spock’s concern.

 

~*~

 

The crew of the _Enterprise_ inherited their positions out of necessity. They all came to it with blood on their hands and ghosts hanging around their necks. But they weren’t deaths they were responsible for. Uhura grieved her best friend, but didn’t send Gaila to her death.

Sulu’s eyes were haunted from the death of friends, of Olsen during the space jump, but he didn’t give the order to jump.

McCoy didn’t kill the CMO before him.

They dealt with their dead, but not with the knowledge that they were dead because of something _they_ had done.

Jim came to the center seat, coated in death, and familiar with the weight of it’s guilt, as comfortable with the spectre at his shoulder as he was with Spock.

He knew, in a distant sort of way, that being captain would mean dead bodies.

Knew the guilt that would come with that.

He never realized the weight of that guilt would drive him to his knees.

He didn’t expect that Spock would know that weight.

 

~*~

 

Three months after Jacobs on Emueri Prime, Doctor T’oli from the science department was killed. It was poison, something impossibly fast that got loose in the science lab during gamma shift, when it was only scientists running private experiments.

Jim couldn’t be blamed for this one. It was bad lab work, not even something he was ordered to do.

But he took that guilt, just like with Jacobs, hid in the Jefferies tube that he found three months ago, and he stayed there, the ship a comforting hum around him as he settled T’oli in his mind, a burrow of memory under a velvet black sky and dirt dusted purple.

 

~*~

 

“Jim, let me help.”

“You know the first thing I remember is finding out my father died so I could live. That’s my first _memory.”_

“It is a burden you shouldn’t have to carry.”

“And this? The five dead on Ceti Alpha V, those are my burden. I ordered them to go down there.”

“I carry my own burden, Captain. The elders I could not save on Vulcan that Was. My mother. Those who died on Earth, because I would not listen to you.”

“That’s different,” Jim insisted.

“How?”

Jim didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He curled into his knees. The Jefferies tube felt smaller than it ever had and Spock was close, close enough that he could touch him, if he wanted, and he could see the dead--T’oli, Jacobs, Gaila, Olsen, George, _Erin_ \--see them all, stretching back into his past, dusty memories scattered in the stars, and he wanted to let them go, wanted to sleep, wanted the reassuring warmth of Kevin against his side, wanted the familiar count of his spine and ribs, and the beat of his heart to remind Jim that he’s alive, that they’re all alive.

He wanted it in a way he hadn’t allowed himself since they left the Starfleet hospital, and Kevin’s uncle took him away.

Spock slid closer, and Jim flinched, wounded animal withdrawal.

“Let me help.” the Vulcan murmured.

 

~*~

 

They don’t die, often. The _Enterprise_ has the lowest mortality rate in the ‘fleet, a feat accomplished by skilled people and Kirk’s stubborn refusal of things other people wouldn’t question, and a crew that has watched their captain, after someone dies and wanted to protect him.

None of them want to see him still and silent and withdrawn. No one wants to keep the quiet vigil when he vanishes, into the twisting corridors and creeping tunnels, and hides from them and himself in the heart of her, where only Spock will dare follow.

 

~*~

 

They don’t die, often. But they do die.

 

~*~

 

It is the fifth death--a month or two after they pass their first year in space--that Spock finds him. Six dead in a mine collapse, and they weren’t even permitted to recover the bodies. Spock watched as Jim leaned his head back and says, “One of them reminded me of Kevin.”

Silence and then, “Who was Kevin?”

He has never spoken of Tarsus. Not to anyone, not even Bones. It’s a black stain memory shot through with purple and gold and he left it there, a scar over a half-healed wound.

But.

“He was a boy I knew, on Tarsus. He used to sleep tucked against me, here,” Jim touched his side, and closed his eyes, and Spock watched, silent. “He did it for comfort. I let him because if I held him, I knew he was still alive.”

Wild blue eyes found warm black.

“Jim,” Spock said, low and soothing. “Let me help.”

He made a noise that was furious and helpless and hurt, and Spock shifted. Came closer in the small space, until all Jim could hear was his heart pounding and all he could smell was Spock, spicy incense and wild winds, closer still until he’s pressed into Jim’s side, an arm around his waist, burrowing deep and Jim made a noise like a sob, clinging to the Vulcan.

For the first time since Jacobs died, he felt like he could breathe.

 

~*~

 

The ocean is murky and white, and Jim’s last thought was _Spock is going to be pissed_ . And when his eyes open, they burn, stung by the water, and his lungs are screaming, screaming _screaming_.

The Thrasi shake him, once, all graceful brute strength, and he can see the others--Sulu, Giatto, Roberts, who hangs limp and too still and trails blood in the milky white water, and he makes a noise, straining against the arm holding him, suddenly, so suddenly the Thrasi jolts, it’s spinal fins flaring in alarm and anger. Sulu sees him and jerks in his captor's grip and Jim thinks for one second he’ll slid free but--the Thrasi’s grip tightens on him as Giatto writhes, his whole body shaking and Sulu’s captor turns, to help.

Sulu, Kirk learned a long time ago, never goes anywhere without a hidden knife. He slashes, suddenly violent, and the white water blooms magenta as the Thrasi bleeds, it’s bright fins leaching of color. For one second, he sees Sulu hesitate, and then--Kirk shakes his head, once--the helmsman is swimming, desperate, for the surface.

_Spock,_ Jim thinks, fuzzily, _Sulu is coming._

He feels an answering surge of alarm before the Thrasi scream and pain rips up his side, and he surrenders to the black.


	11. Chapter 11

**Part XI: Courting Rituals**

 

“He wants to bond?” Bones says, again. It’s the fourth time he’s repeated that particular phrase and it’s no less annoying this time than it was the first three.

Jim swallows some more of the Saurian brandy and nods again.

Something like a frown ghosts over McCoy’s face, a little like a scowl. “I didn’t know y’all were even together.”

Jim nods, frantic, and points at the other man. “ _ Exactly.” _

Bones reaches over and retrieves the brandy from his captain. “Why don’t you start at the beginning, Jim.”

 

~*~

 

Spock watches him. It would amuse him, if he weren’t so confused, if that steady gaze weren’t so constant.

After the Seti, after that kiss, the question that wasn’t a question--Spock watched Jim. On the bridge and in the mess hall. During meetings with the department head and fielding comms from the admiralty.

Even when he was sparring with Sulu, those damn brown eyes watched him. It was driving him a little crazy and he wanted to preen under that gaze almost as much as he wanted to run from it.

The thing is--he had no idea what was happening. How they jumped from colleagues who tolerated each other to friends to proposing.

He knows there was moments. Times that it happened. But it’s all jumbled up, a mix of memories that don’t make any sense because they’re all chaos and noise, so familiar and comfortable that he can't tell which ones are important. What led them to this.

 

~*~

 

“My younger self is concerned, old friend.”

Jim gives the Ambassador a dirty look. “Your younger self proposed marriage five minutes after he kissed me. If anyone gets to be concerned right now, it's me.”

Salek lifts an eyebrow and says, slowly. “Why does he believe you have been courting for the better part of a year?”

A  _ year? _

He searches his memories, for anything that--

“I told him I had feelings for him. A year ago. I had pulled away and when he asked--I couldn’t lie.”

“Ahh. That does explain much.”

“ _ How?”  _ Jim demands, baffled.

Salek’s mouth curves into that strangely familiar smile. “Vulcans are different from humans, Jim. Did your time together increase, after that conversation?”

“Uh. We started playing chess again. Dinners.” he squirms under the bright gleam of Salek’s eyes.

“You were being courted, Jim. You stated your interest and he returned it with his time and attention.” Salek says, gently.

Which.

Fuck.

“He couldn’t just  _ say _ something?” Because now there’s all this wasted time, this potential that’s just  _ there.  _ He taps his fingers and tries to focus on the Ambassador while running through a list of all the places Spock might be right now.

A laugh lights up the old man’s eyes, and Jim shifts, impatiently.

“Jim, there is a meeting I must attend, might we resume this conversation later?”

Jim grins his thanks and Salek smiles at him, eyes bright as he signs off.

 

~ *~

 

Spock is in the science labs. It’s late enough that the place is quiet, almost empty, and Jim moves through it quietly, until he reaches Spock’s side. The Vulcan gives him a quick searching look, an even, “Captain,” before turning his attention back to the calculations at hand.

“What are you working on?”

Spock hesitates for a moment, gaze going sharp and assessing on Jim. Whatever he sees, makes a faint smile brighten his eyes and he launches into a detailed explanation.

Occasionally, Jim will ask a question clarify something he doesn’t quite understand and Spock’s gaze will brighten, even as his tone dips into a tone Jim recognizes from the Academy, something faintly professorial, lecturing in warm tones that makes Jim grin, ridiculously.

“We should do it.”

Spock pauses, and one eyebrow goes up. Curiously.

Jim hops off the stool he’s been sitting on and strolls to him, pressing into his space, and Spock’s gaze darkens, goes hot and lazy. “That bonding thing you suggested? We should,” he leans up and presses a kiss to the corner of Spock’s lips, twists their fingers together, “definitely do that.”

“Jim,” Spock says, his voice taking that slight inflection that tells the captain how exasperated he is. “This experiment is time sensitive.”

“Want me to go away?” he asks, nipping at the curve of Spock’s jaw.

Strong hands close over his hips, drag him impossibly closer, and Jim laughs when Spock murmurs, “Negative. I will repeat the experiment.”

He hesitates and then, almost shyly, “Are you certain? Bonding is very permanent.”

“Are you? You know me, Spock. I’m not the easiest guy to live with. You sure you want to be stuck with me forever?”

Spock’s grip goes painfully tight, but his lips, when they brush over Jim’s--those are gentle. Careful. Like Jim is something fragile and precious and treasured, soft glancing kisses that draws the neediest noise from Jim, broken and low and lovely.

“Forever does not sound like nearly long enough with you, Jim.”

 

~*~

 

The orders comes a month later, while Jim is in bed, stretched out over Spock. His skin is warm, unnaturally heated from the Vulcan, bruises still blooming from the grip Spock kept on his hips as he eased Jim down on his cock, rocked the human gently, relentless, never the sharp driving thrusts Jim was begging for, but a steady press in,  _ filling _ him, until Jim was writhing, sobbing and Spock’s fingers slid over his face, and Jim gasped, tilting, instinctively granting him access.

He came as Spock flooded into his mind, came with a strangled gasp and a shudder, stripes of white across Spock’s flushed chest, and fuzzily, possessively, thought,  _ mine. _

That thought yanked Spock over the edge with him, with a snarl and a strong thrust into Jim’s pliant body.

They’re still there, breathing evening out as Spock drifts, happy and curious, through Jim’s mind, when the orders come. Jim whined, burrowing into Spock’s warmth.

“What?”

_ “Captian, new orders from Starfleet.” _

He groans, and sits up, fumbling for his shirt. Spock hands him his pants. “I’ll take it in my quarters.”

He's pretty sure he still looks fucked and from the way Pike’s eyebrows go up, he's right.

“Am I interrupting, Captain?” he drawls and Kirk shrugs.

“What can I do for you, Admiral?”

“We need the  _ Enterprise  _ to head to the Colony. Ambassador Sarek has requested a Federation delegation at the opening of the VSA. Which means you’re on deck.”

Kirk’s lips curve. “You realize we’re on the other side of the galaxy.”

Pike looks distinctly disgruntled about that little tidbit. “I'm very aware. But if the Vulcan ambassador asks for the  _ Enterprise, _ the Federation is gonna give them the  _ Enterprise.  _ Make it happen. And enjoy the shore leave--its the last you'll be getting for a while.”

Kirk nods and disconnects, turning to Spock.

“I thought the VSA was still a few months from opening?”

“It appears that something has moved their schedule ahead.” Spock says, sedately.

“Remind me that you turn into a crafty old bastard when we’re old.” Jim says and Spock raises an eyebrow.

“That seems counter intuitive,  _ t’hy’la.” _

The word itches at his skin, a curiosity that Spock refuses to satisfy as the Vulcan passes their new orders on to the bridge. He tugs Kirk back to bed impatiently as the  _ Enterprise  _ shudders into warp.

Snug against his chest, Jim murmurs. “We’re gonna bond while we're there.”

It isn't a question. But he still feels the answer, a peal of possessive  _ yes _ ringing through him as he drifts into sleep.

 

~*~

 

The ceremony is a simple thing. Kneeling on the stones of New Vulcan, while T’Pau drifts over their minds, tugging their new and fragile bond into something strong and irrevocable, a darkly shining thing that snaps into place with a  _ rightness  _ that leaves Jim gasping. Spock watches him with dark, fathomless eyes and a steady beat of love.

He could build his world around something as solid as Spock.

When T’Pau drifts away from the bond, pronounces it done, Jim grins, and Salek mirrors it, even if Spock only allows his lips to twitch.

“My son,” Sarek said, when Kirk’s bridge crew finally clear out enough to let the Ambassador reach the newly bonded pair. Jim touches it, the dark shining warmth in his mind and felt Spock turn to him, curious, even as he answers his father.

“There is a house. It is yours, a gift from the House of Surak. Ambassador Salek will escort you to it. It would please me, if you would join me for your evening meal.”

Spock nods politely at his father and Sarek gives them something that is almost a smile before he moves away.

 

~*~

 

The house is on the edge of the desert.

It is small--Uhura, following Jim and Spock with the rest of the bridge crew, calls it cozy.

There is a library and a room for Jim to tinker in. A brightly lit room reserved for Spock to conduct his experiments. A small, pristine kitchen and a spacious living room that faces the wild desert and the open sky.

There is, too, two guest bedrooms.

“Space for your crew,” Salek says, smiling faintly, “And a room for Leonard.”

Behind him, Bones snorts. “Don’t hold your breath. I get enough of you two sappy bastards up there, thanks. Besides, this place is as god awful hot as Vulcan that Was.”

Salek smiles and leads Spock and Jim upstairs, to a room that is dominated by the big bed and more windows that look into the night sky.

He watches them as they examine it, watches Jim's eyes light up in excitement.

“We began construction two months after we arrived at the Colony,” Salek says softly, smiling a private sort of smile.

It’s a cozy little home, built specifically for the bonded pair that own it, a gift from Sarek and the House of Surak.

“How--” Jim looks at Salek, and laughs, helpless. “You knew.”

He shakes his head and answers, quietly, “I did not  _ know, _ my friend. But I did have occasion to hope.”

He leaves them there, alone with each other, distracted the crew downstairs.

“This is too much,” Jim protests. Spock sits on the bed, waits until Jim grew weary and comes to him.

“This is the way they honor you,  _ t’hy’la.” _

_ What does that mean? _

Spock smiles, and reaches for him, allows their fingers to tangle.  _ Friend. Brother. Lover. It means, Jim, that you are my world.  _ “If my counterpart wishes to honor you for that, we will let him. He is very fond of you.”

_ “ _ Us.” Jim corrects, gentle. He settles in Spock’s lap, kisses him gently. Licks into Spock’s mouth and tentatively strokes the bond that gleams bright in his head.

_ Us. We. Together. _

The words are a promise, a caress and Jim reaches for it, reaches for Spock, for their new bond, and the world explodes into starlight around them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part XII The Unending Ocean**

 

He wakes in a cave, a wet, black hole. His lungs are tight and he coughs, feels something wet tearing in his gut.

Shit.

Bones was going to  _ kill _ him.

“Captain?”

He shifts, and almost screams as his lungs seize, pain so bright he can't breathe for a second. There's a sound like a sob, nearby, choked off and he focuses on that, on his crew who needs him.

“Cupcake?” he gasps.

There's noise, the quick scrape of rocks together. Then hands, something familiar about them, known from years of service and sparring and watching those capable hands protecting his crew. Giatto sags just a little and Kirk squeezes his hand. “Report.”

“We’re in a cave, sir. I swam out but there's nothing there. Just the ocean.”

No guards. Of course not, where the fuck were they going to go?

“Comms?”

“No good. Think the water is creating an interference.”

Kirk leans back and feels the solid press of Giatto settle next to him.

“Captain,”

“Quiet, Cupcake,” Kirk says, absently. Already his mind is turning inward, darting through the twisting tunnels and halls. Reaching for the dark shining bond that pulses with worry and

_ Spock. _

A wash of relief and rage, so bright that it swamps him, washes away the fear and the darkness and there is only the brightness of stars and Spock.

In the bondspace, Spock always appears as Jim most loves, relaxed and reaching for him, in light flowing robes, black with silver script curling up the sides. It's what he wore the day they were bonded, what he favors when they have shore leave or more than five minutes in their quarters. He stands there now, in black and silver and stars, his whole body reaching for Kirk, drawing him close with hot possessive hands.

_ Where are you?  _ Spock demands, his expression tight and worried. And angry. Gods, the Vulcan is shaking with it.

_ A cave. Somewhere in the ocean. They didn't exactly leave me coordinates. _

Spock frowns, but already there is something fierce and determined and immovable in his eyes.  _ It will make it harder, but not impossible. I will find you. _

Warmth, the too hot press of Spock’s hand against his face, long elegant fingers curling into his hair. Dry lips and a rough tongue, a kiss so familiar that it has been years since he thought of it as anything but perfect. Spock kissed him as the stars wheeled overhead and the ocean pulsed at his feet and Jim leaned into the touch, into the promise.

_ I know. _

 

_ ~*~ _

 

The third time he wakes, it's to pain. White hot stabbing, it carves through him and he can hear the Thrasi speaking, hear their whispering musical language.

_ Sounds like the tides, _ he thinks, and feels a brush of agreement.

Then the pain sweeps away everything but the fire burning in his lungs and the twisting in his legs and he feels a spike of indignant fury  before that's gone too, and there's only pain, twisting and bright and consuming.

He feels the world spinning around him and the bond with Spock pulsing, writhing in fury, and Giatto shouting. Someone is screaming, and distantly, he realizes that broken howl is coming from him.

_ Jim! _

He clings to the bond, and Spock shoves every good memory, every warm thought and spark of love, into him, fighting the flood of pain and the sibilant whispers, the way pain is hooking into his mind, his body, wiggling  _ deeper  _ and he can hear Giatto yelling, screaming  _ Why _ ,  _ just tell us what the fuck you want, damn you. _

He feels the Thrasi moving around them, feels something sharp and electric digging into his legs and arms, the tightness of his lungs, and Spock, the fear he is trying to shield.

_ How fucked are we? _

Determination floods the bond.  _ Silence, Jim. I will find you. _

_ Are the Crati helping at all? _

Fury and despair streaks across the starscape that keeps getting supplanted by milky white ocean, and Jim swallows his laugh.

_ I  _ will  _ find you, _

_ I love you Spock,  _ he murmurs, tired, and grief rises, thick and choking.

The pain is back, now, and the whispers, and he feels the bond stretching, something sharp and alien about it. Spock roars, furious, and Jim panics, lurches on his twisted legs and in the fading bondspace, scrambling for Spock, and--

It snaps with a noise and a force like a bone breaking, echoing and stabbing and he screams screams screams.

When the black comes again, it is welcome.

 

~*~

 

“Will your federation stand with us?”

The Thrasi leader is staring at him with blank eyes and Kirk tries to make sense of that sentence. His legs and arms feel gone, so agonized he almost cannot feel the pain anymore.

The bond though. That screams and writhes, searching and searching, a black hole of want where home has always been.

“You have imprisoned and tortured a starship captain.” Giatto snaps. “The Federation will destroy you, not fucking broker peace.”

“Then we are no worse than we were before we imprisoned and tortured your captain.”

Giatto snarls, lunging at the Thrasi leader. There is a rush of noise, like roaring water and a loud  _ cracking  _ noise.

Giatto falls, his face angry, his eyes still wide and empty, and the sound he makes, when he lands is sickening. Kirk stares at him, at the body of a man he’s known for almost twenty years and he wants to scream. Wants to howl and rage. Wants to shake Cupcake until he blinks and gives Kirk that impatient grin and follows, his feet solid and heavy and unfaltering, wherever Kirk led them.

“Cupcake,” he whispers.

“Will your Federation stand with us?”

Kirk blinks back the tears he didn’t realize he was crying, and glares at them. “Fuck you and your people.”

The Thrasi sighs. Nods once, as ze turns away. The roar is back and Kirk throws himself into the black hole of his broken bond as the pain comes screaming back.

 

~*~

 

The light wakes him.

Light and  _ noise. _

Thrasi are screaming, the sound swelling like the ocean, and he can hear phaser fire and someone panting near his ear, something sharp digging into his wrist.

“Hold still.”

_ Sulu _

The ocean roars, and Kirk makes a noise, pained and broken, and sees something turn toward him.

Deep in his head, a black hole pulses, searching.

Someone screams, and he hears a low, wet groan, before--

“Spock,” he whimpers, falling as Sulu cuts the last of his bonds free. He howls as his weight hits his legs and Spock reaches for him, easing him down. Careful and protective, the way Spock has always been with him.

“You found me,” Jim mumbles, leaning into his bondmate.

Spock makes a noise, that amused sigh he does, but it sounds  _ wrong _ , wet and hurt and Kirk wants to  _ look _ wants to know what’s wrong, but Spock is holding him close, dragging him into a kiss that hurts almost more than it feels good, biting and licking, sucking softly on Kirk’s tongue, catching the low noises he makes and chasing them with his own. Fingers find Kirk’s meld points, and the black hole shudders as Spock invades his mind, a kind of invasion he hasn’t experienced since they were bonded. Kirk shakes, convulsing in Spock’s arms.  _ You found me, _ he whispers.

Spock is there, in his mind, in the starscape that is home, smiling gentle in black and shining stars.  _ I will always find you, t’hy’la. _

He lets go of the fear, of the pain, of the black hole that is consuming him, and the bond explodes into him, through him, stronger than before, and he can hear something shaking through it, Spock’s voice a bedrock that he has built his life on.

_ Remember, Jim. Remember. _

Someone is shaking him, yanking him away from Spock, and he screams in fury and pain, fighting to hold onto Spock’s fingers.

There’s blood on Spock’s lips, when he smiles up at Jim, and his voice is breathy and weak when he opens his communicator. “Mister Scott. Beam up the Captain.”

“ _ Spock! _ ”

The transporter catches him as he yells, throws himself against Ensign Harrison’s grip, and the last thing he sees is Sulu lifting Spock’s limp body.

_ T’hy’la. Jim. I love you. I love you. _

It echoes in him as he appears on the ship, and he’s shouting, yelling orders that no one is listening to and 

_ Spock!  _

McCoy appears, his face grim and wet and knowing, and the hypo presses into his neck. He fights it, cursing even as the sedative and meds flood his body.

_ Spock! _

_ I love you. I love you. Jim. I love you. _


	13. Chapter 13

**Part XIII The Katra**

 

Salek is at his bed when he wakes, and he remembers, distantly, the journey back to the house, Salek’s worry pulsing along his mind like the tides of that fucking planet, and Bones, drawn and worried, silent in his concern.

“Is it true? What she showed me?”

Salek stares at him, and there is a deep, fathomless sorrow in his gaze that answers the question.

Grief rises up, choking him and he swallows against it. A brush of reassurance along the bond, there and gone so quickly, and he shivers. “Why can I feel him?”

“Because he was your bondmate,” Spock says, “And, I suspect that you carry his katra.”

Jim stares at him, blankly and Salek shifts on his seat, leaning toward him. He skitters back on the bed, his eyes wide and wary.

“Jim, what did Spock tell you of the t’hy’la bond?”

_Friend. Brother. Lover. It means, Jim, that you are my world._

“He said that it meant I was part of him. Friend, brother, lover.”

Salek nods. “Indeed. The bond--it was a warrior bond, in the old days. It brought together the warring clans. To harm the _t’hy’la_ bond was as bad, was worse, in some ways, than harming oneself. There were some who believed that the bond transcended death.”

Jim is watching him. “And you?”

Salek is silent and then, “When my Jim died, I carried an echo of him, for a time. The manner of his death was--unusual.”

“And after, when he died, after the Nexus,” Jim pressed, urgent. Spock shifted in the bondspace, murmuring his name. “Could you still feel him after that?”

Salek hesitates, and Spock murmurs, _No. He could not._

“No. You carry his _katra,_ Jim. It is not only your bond that speaks to you.”

_I love you. I love you. Remember. Jim. I love you._

“What does that mean?” Jim asks, blinking the memories away. He can feel himself splintering, feel the cracks of loss, the way his mind was searching, searching, looking for Spock.

He can feel the _wrong_ of the bond, now.

 _Shh. I am here,_ ashayam. _Trust me._

“It means you carry his soul. He gave it to you, to protect. Until you could bring it to the Elders and the Katric Ark.”

 _No._ Spock whispers

“No,” Jim echoes.

“Jim,”

“ _No_ ,” they say, together, stronger, united. _I will not leave you, t’hy’la._

 _“_ Jim, you cannot keep it. The katra--it will kill you, if you continue to carry it. It will drive you mad.” Salek’s voice is sharp, rough with concern and Jim stares at him, something longing and hopeful in his gut.

“If you had a chance to keep your Jim, even if it destroyed you--would you give him up?”

Something desolate and _desperate_ crosses that ancient face. He sighs. “You are so very like him.”

“Then you had to know what my answer would be. What our answer is.”

Spock drifts closer, a warm dark presence in the bondspace, _Together, Jim._

Jim nods, reaching for him, closing his eyes, even as a smile curls his lips.

_Never and always touching and touched._

“Yes, Spock,” he whispers, turning on his side, away from Salek.

_Yes, Jim._

 

~*~

 

It's been two days since the healer, two days since he rejected Salek’s plea.

Two days of curling in their empty bed, ignoring Bones when he comes with food and bourbon and tears.

Two days of living deep in the bondspace, where Spock gleams, bright and whole and living, where his love wraps around Jim in a comforting constant wave.

He likes it there, in the safety of his bondspace.

In the comfort of Spock’s arms.

Everything else may change, but _this_ hasn’t. He holds onto it and decides it won’t.

 _I am here, Jim._ Spock murmurs. _But you will need to speak to the Doctor eventually._

 _Why?_ Jim demands, _I would rather be here with you._

Spock gives him that patient smile Jim loves, the one that is fond and exasperated all at once.

_I will always be with you, ashayam._

_Parted from me, and never parted?_ Jim asks, and Spock’s arms around him tightens.

_As you say._

Bones is sitting on the staircase when he comes down, and Jim sits next to him, leaning against his friend.

“Jim,” Bones says, and his voice is cracked, broken. “Gods, Jim, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Jim doesn’t say anything, and Bones breaks, sobbing as they sit there, “I tried. I tried so damn hard, kid, but it was too much--the bond breaking and his injuries--they used poison, it was worse on telepaths, Jim, I’m so _sorry. I tried.”_

Jim holds him as he cries, and he wants to say something, something to reassure his friend, the brother that Sock and Jim both needed.

 _We did not consider him,_ Spock says, and his voice is mournful, the kind of regret he so rarely displays.

Jim nods, holding Bones as he cries.

As he grieves.

“I’m sorry, Bones,” he murmurs into his hair,“I’m so sorry.”

~*~

Sarek comes, soon after that. They’re sitting at the table and Bones is gently heckling Jim into eating, something that is familiar and painful.

“Ambassador. I didn't expect you,” Jim says, rising to greet him.

“Ambassador Salek has informed me you are aware of Spock’s _katra._ ”

He can feel it, moving inside him, a quiet answer to the Vulcan’s anger.

“I am,” Jim answers.

Sarek stares at him and Jim forced himself to meet his father in law’s gaze.

Now,  it is easy, to see the pain. The grief that is ripping the man apart. _Gods, Spock. He loved you._

Silence echoes where Spock should be, and Kirk squeezes his eyes closed.

“You will not surrender it.” Sarek says and he doesn’t make it a question. He doesn’t need to.

“I can’t, Sarek. You can’t ask that of me.”

“You would destroy him, for your own selfish reasons.” Sarek says, dully.

“I would keep what he gave me,” Kirk counters.

“Do you understand what is lost, if you do not give his _katra_ to the Elders?”

“Do you understand what is lost, if I do?” Kirk demands. “You are asking me to give you half of my soul.”

“It is not yours to keep,” Sarek says, coldly even.

“I am _t’hy’la,”_ Kirk snaps, “a bond that even your Vulcan logic bows to. Look at your own histories, Sarek. There is no precedence saying the _katra_ should be separated from a _t’hy’la._ ”

“And there is no precedence that says you will survive keeping it.” Sarek answers. “Is that what you believe Spock to want?”

The stars gleam, bright and eternal, tugging at him with a promise of something he can almost taste.

He remembers the stories Spock would whisper, when he woke from nightmares and curled into his bondmate’s side, of the _t’hy’la_ of old, the ones who stole bodies and repudiated logic in the name of love and the preservation of their soulmates.

Vulcans might be the cold logical minds of the universe, but as the bondmate of one, Kirk knew they were also romantic bastards.

“What Spock wanted was for me to be with him.” Kirk says. “I would ask you honor your son’s wish, Ambassador.”

Something very broken crosses Sarek’s face and he stands. As he walks to the door, Kirk thinks, for the first time, that Sarek looks impossibly old.

 

~*~

 

That night, after Sarek has gone and Bones has fallen asleep, close but not so close it’s suffocating, Kirk creeps from the house.

Spock stirs in his mind, as he sits on the sandy ground outside, his back to the curving, rough hewn stone, and tilts his head back, staring at the black.

He keeps his eyes on the stars, on the endless sky. When he stares at that, he can’t see the light fading in Spock’s eyes, the ground wet with white water and green blood.

Like this, staring into the stars, with Spock’s heart beating in time to his, he can almost forget that Spock is gone.

 _I am here, t’hy’la,_ Spock murmurs.

Jim nods and leans into his presence, letting the bond and _katra_ swirl around him until he couldn’t tell where one ends and he began.

And refused to wonder how long this could last.


	14. Chapter 14

**Part XIV Parted and Never Parted**

 

It wasn’t easy.

Being bonded to each other. They are difficult to begin with, and the life they had chosen was not one that leant to domestic bliss. It was difficult to balance  _ them  _ and the needs and responsibilities of being Captain and Commander.

But there was, too, the moments. Stolen moments, Kirk sometimes thought, when he sprawled in bed and Spock rested on the floor, deep in meditation.

_ You are thinking very loudly, Jim. _

Jim grinned, and Spock opened his eyes to stare up him, a tiny curl to his lips. “Feel better?” he asked, watching as Spock stood and methodically stripped.

It had been a year since they fell into bed together and six months since they bonded. But it still felt new and amazing, when he lay in bed and watched Spock like this.

Like he belonged here.

“I am adequate, Jim,” Spock said, and crawled into bed.

Even doing that, he was undeniably sexy, all feline predator as he curled around Jim and nuzzled into the back of his neck.

Jim smiled.

It wasn’t easy. But it sure as fuck was worth it.

 

~*~

 

They fought.

Often.

Jim was startled by how often.

Spock hadn’t been to their quarters in three days, and even though the bond was blown wide open, a  spangle of stars and brightly colored nebulas in the black, it was cold and angry.

He was still pissed.

“Then talk to him,” Bones said, exasperated. Jim stared at the brandy and shook his head.

“I can’t apologize for doing my job.”

“But you expect him to.”

Jim scowled. “When you put it that way…”

“Jim,” McCoy said and there’s something heavy and serious about his voice that pulled Jim’s gaze up. “I had a shitty marriage and the divorce was worse. But if there is anything I wish I could go back and do different? I’d say sorry more. Doesn’t matter who was right or wrong. What matters is you love him and he loves you.” He leaned across the table and touched Kirk’s wrist. “Fix it, kid.”

He found Spock coming to find him, and it was awkward. Hard to swallow his pride and say the words.

But easier, when Spock reached for him and regret turned the bond frosty, cool rain in space.

“Spock,” he breathed, curling into the Vulcan’s arms. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

 

~*~

 

The  _ Enterprise _ was a self contained little world. Kirk prided himself on being the best in the ‘fleet, of a having a crew deserving of the flagship.

But every self contained little world had it’s disasters, and the Rigelian fever was--definitely a disaster.

“I’m going to die,” he mumbled into his pillow.

Spock sighed, and brushed hair from his forehead. The Vulcan’s hand was hot, but comforting, familiar and Jim leaned into it with a tiny groan.

“You will not die, Jim,” he said, patiently.

“The crew--”

“Has been inoculated. The sick are recovering well and I believe the good doctor is as happy as I have ever seen him.”

Jim smiled at that, a weak thing. His immune system and allergies always made him the wildcard for Bones. It was, he thought a little bit self-pitying, a shitty card to be.

Something like warm amusement and concern that was barely concealed, drifted to him on the bond, and he shivered, frustrated tears in his eyes as his muscles shake and tremble.

“Hate this,” he gritted out. Spock lifted him up and settled on the bed, his back to the bulkhead, curling his warm body around Kirk, rubbing and giving that low, steady noise that Jim liked to call a purr, but only after sex, when Spock was too blissed out to hit him.

It’s soothing, and he leaned into it, the tension sliding from him in slow degrees until he’s slumped over his bondmate, a feverish, twitching captain held steady by his first.

_ Hate this, _ he said again.

_ I know, ashaya.  _ Spock said, and hugged him closer.

 

~*~

 

They spend four days on New Vulcan, the last year of the five year mission, four days without any communication from the ship or Command, and every time someone tried, Sarek or Salek calmly interfere.

Spock was, always, a force of nature, demanding in a way that always startled and delighted Kirk.

But for those three days, he’s….different. Possessive and feral, relentless. Once, Bones attempted to approach the little house balanced between the desert and the city and Spock reacted so violently Kirk was afraid Bones would be hurt--actually  _ hurt _ before he got away.

But he’s gentle, with Kirk. Demanding as he spreads him open and holds him down, as he moves with more force and determination than he ever has, his grip bruising on Kirk’s hips, his mind flooding past the bond, into every crevice of Kirk’s mind.

When they came, it’s together, twisted so thoroughly neither knows who came, only that they did.

For three days it is like that--sex that is a battle and demand, broken by moments of Spock holding him in their bed, licking away sweat and pressing broken Vulcan phrase into his skin.

They fuck in the bathtub, when Kirk coaxes him there, and in the kitchen, when he attempted to feed them and Spock lost patience. They fuck on the couch while the sun flames overhead, and, that night, in the garden, while the stars watch them.

And when Spock rose to an empty bed, and the fever burning in his blood flared stronger, he chased his laughing, illogical mate, into the desert that was so different and familiar, chased that laughing, illogical mind until it turned to face him and they fought, and Jim’s blood pounded, harder than he expected as Spock carried him to the dusty desert ground and claimed him, there, the way Vulcans did, in a past so distant it feels alien, on a world they couldn’t save.

Spock kissed him, after and Jim licked blood from his mouth that he didn’t realize he drew.

When they return to the  _ Enterprise,  _ no one asks about the bruises on the Captain, or Spock’s gaze that never left him.

 

~ *~

 

Earth was different, and they were different there. Always, there was a hesitance in Spock, as they left the  _ Enterprise _ , as he absorbed Kirk’s melancholy.

The first few weeks were a whirlwind of debriefs and press conferences, shoulder to shoulder in front of the world and this, at least, was familiar, a comforting routine in a place that fit wrong, like it has been outgrown, left half forgotten.

After that came the pretty bait. Whispers of promotion, rumors that circled them and the Academy where Spock taught and Kirk waited, patient, in the halls.

That didn’t touch them. Hadn’t. Not since Altamid, when they both chose a life in the stars, together.

Earth was different and they were different there, a restless sort of longing filling them both as they waited through the long months earthside.

Until they could return to the stars that was home for them both.

 

~*~

 

There were comments. People who did not understand. Women who tried to seduce him.

Men who did the same.

Monogamy was a difficult concept to pair with James Kirk. So too was a Vulcan bondmate who remained steady and logical and unemotional at his side.

But the galaxy didn’t see the Spock he knew, the one that shed his uniform and basked in the heat and spiced, incense heavy air of their quarters.

They didn’t see the way Spock watched him, over chess, over meals shared with Bones, over a thousand reports and missions, like Kirk hung the moons and stars, and he was happy to live his entire life orbiting him.

The love was one that few understand and less are invited to.

But as time went by, and they are watched, fewer people imposed on it.

It never stopped entirely. But it happened less, as the love, quiet and unbreakable, grew between them.

 

~*~

 

_ Spock? _

It is quiet in the Colony, and Jim is aware of it, very distantly. Spock is spinning stars around them, and he leans into the other man, settled against his chest. It feels safe, here. Like nothing has changed. Like nothing will ever have to change.

_ Yes? _

_ Can we keep this? Always? _

The stars slow and nebulas bloom in their wake, bright and worrisome.

_ Jim,  _ Spock says, slowly. He catches Jim’s hand, twists their fingers together and presses his lips against Jim’s hair.  _ You know that they are correct. _

_ I know I don’t care,  _ Jim retorts and Spock sighs, tightening his grip on him.

_ You will go mad. They will take your rank and your ship. _

Jim twists to face him, and gives Spock a smile.

It’s not sad or even resigned, and it makes Spock’s breath catch, because it’s achingly familiar, so lovely it hurts to see.

It’s the wild eager grin he has given Spock for years, every time they stood side by side on a new planet, before they beamed into something alien and unknown. It is the fierce joy and unbridled excitement at a new adventure.

_ Do you remember, the time I got hurt on  _ Epatson II?

His eyes widen and he shakes his head, pushing at Jim and Jim is grinning. Wild and triumphant. They both remember that time, a few months after their first pon farr together, when Jim was kidnapped by a small, militant political sect. They’d tried to use him to bargain with the Federation, and instead got Spock, cold and implacable and utterly unwilling to bargain. 

Jim almost died before it was over, before Spock and the  _ Enterprise  _ stole him home and brought the militants to their knees in a hail of phaser fire.

_ Jim,  _ Spock says, and he is begging and he doesn’t know, anymore, what he is begging  _ for. _

Jim ignores it, and kisses him as the stars blurs around them and the bondspace flares into brilliant life.

_ Parted from me, and never parted. _


	15. Chapter 15

**Part XV: Never and Always, Touching and Touched** .

 

Jim Kirk was born into a no win situation.

He faced them every step of his life and in every time, forced it to bend to him, to accomodate him, until it became so commonplace that he began to believe it, that the rules didn’t apply to him.

Maybe he was right.

This.

Living with Spock’s  _ katra _ would kill him.

Living without Spock would kill him.

_ It’s a no win situation, Jim. _

Jim grinned and fell back on the big bed, staring at the stars. “C’mon, Spock. You know I don’t believe in those.”

 

~*~

 

“I want a ship.”

Bones stares at him, and Jim knows that look. The sick knowing in his friend’s face. He keeps his blank. Open.

“Think you should stay grounded for a while. You just found out about Spock and--”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jim asks, quietly, and Bones flinches. Stares at Jim.

No.

His Captain. That’s who is staring at him right now, his captain, looking tired and cold and angry.

“Because you were dying, Jim. And I couldn’t tell you something that would push you over the edge. Spock--you weren’t gonna survive that, Jim. You wouldn’t even  _ want  _ to.”

There’s something in that, a challenge. A demand.

Kirk ignores it and shakes his head. “You didn’t have the right to keep that from me, Bones. You  _ know _ you didn’t.”

Bones nods. “I know. But I won’t apologize for keeping you alive. He wouldn’t ask me to.”

Spock laughs, silently, and Jim wonders, for a moment--just one--if this is something he can keep.

“Jim,” Bones asks, carefully. “Why do you want a ship?”

 

~*~ 

 

Bones refuses to help him. He watches with horrified eyes as Jim explains, his voice calm and even. Jim expects the horror. He even expects the fury. 

He expects the stricken sort of grief in Bones eyes, when he finally shakes his head and says, “This--kid, this isn’t winning. He wouldn’t want this.” 

“How do you know that? He’s in my  _ head _ , don’t you think I know what he wants?” 

McCoy doesn’t dignify that with a response, just stands and stalks out, cursing. 

_ If you knew he would refuse you, why did you tell him?  _

Jim turns in the bondspace.  _ Because he deserved to know. Before. He deserved to know. _

Spock’s eyes are sad, fathomless and gleaming and heartbroken, so Jim kisses him until his hands, hot and possessive, pull him close, and 

_ Is he right? Do--do you want this? _

Spock’s grip tightens and the bondspace flares around them, supernova bright, his hands on Jim’s waist possessive points of heat and pressure. 

_ Yes. _

Jim doesn’t really expect McCoy to help. Bones has spent too many years keeping him and Spock alive to do anything that even hints at dangerous right now.

It’s ok.

Jim doesn’t  _ need _ Bones, even if he had hoped.

 

~ *~

 

“What you are asking for--you understand what it is?”

Jim stares at him. At the old man who looks so similiar to his Spock. He is older, looking every single one of the years he has lived. Jim wonders when that happened. When he grew so old.

He thinks it happened since he came here, and Salek watched him falling apart.

“Yes,” he says, quietly. “I do. Salek--the Vulcans of ancient times, who stole their mates bodies and carried their katra. They didn’t survive it. Not the katra, not the attempt to bring their dead back.”

“Which is why you should heed our father’s wishes.” 

Jim is silent for a moment, and he can feel Spock, uneasy and restless, before he says, “I never had a home. There wasn’t a place I ever  _ fit _ , except out there.” His gaze flicks up and then back to Salek. “And with Spock. He’s my home. He’s everything to me.” 

“You would die, rather than lose him?” Salek asks, his voice steady. “That is what you’re proposing, is it not?” 

Jim nds, simply. There is, after all, only one outcome for a plan such as this. Spock murmurs his name, and Jim shivers slightly, eyes fluttering as the bondspace transposed over Salek’s quiet home, for a heartbeat. 

Salek nods. “Very well. The ship is prepared. I have disabled all safety precautions on it. The shields will hold until you are close enough that structural collapse will be assured.” His voice cracks, but he finishes, steady and calm, “It will be unattended tonight.”

Jim feels some of the tension he’s been carrying ease, and Spock stirs, not quite happily but content. Pleased.

“Thank you,” Jim says softly.

“Please. You do not have to do this.” Salek says, and his voice breaks. Jim can hear the tears in it. “Do not ask this of me, my friend. Do not ask  me to endure your death again.”

“If you could change things. Be with him on that ship, even knowing how it ended. Would you go?”

Salek’s eyes are wide and wet and resigned.

It’s all the answer he needs.

 

~*~

 

The house is on the edge of the desert.

It was small--Uhura called it cozy--with a library and a room for Jim to tinker in. A brightly lit room reserved for Spock to conduct his experiments. A small, pristine kitchen that Jim refuses to have a replicator in, and a spacious living room that faces the wild desert and the open sky.

There is, too, two guest bedrooms--one for their crew and one for Leonard who swears he won’t visit because New Vulcan is just as hot as Vulcan That Was and  _ I get enough of you two sappy bastards up here, thanks _ , and, on the second floor, a room that is dominated by the big bed and more windows that look into the night sky.

It’s a cozy little home, built specifically for the bonded pair that own it, a gift from Sarek and the House of Surak.

Jim, when he thinks of home--a home that is planetside and not the  _ Enterprise,  _ because she is his first home, and always will be--he thinks of a little house on New Vulcan, on the edge of the desert, that faces the night sky and has room for their family to visit. When he asks Spock,  _ where is home, to you? _ Spock gives him a patient stare, his head tilted, just a little.

_ Home is with you, Jim. _

Jim always kinda laughs at that, going soft around the edges, so fucking full of love and warmth that he forgets for a second, living anywhere but here, with the ship humming around him and their crew busy beyond the door of their shared quarters.

He forgets that the stars are his home. That he was born of chaos and starlight, and that it is all he will ever call home, that he found the missing piece of his soul in those stars.

Sometimes.

He lets himself dream of a place that they call home.

There is a house on the edge of the desert, a house that was built with a very special bonded pair in mind, carefully planned for their eccentricities and choices, and calmly presented at their bonding ceremony.

It sits empty and waiting for a bonded pair that will never return from the stars.

 

~*~

 

The ship slips through space quietly. Unobtrusive. Watched and dismissed as quickly as it was observed. It follows a preplanned course, and he feels an irrational fondness for the man who loved him, in another universe, who knew him well enough to know what he would do. 

The collision course with the white drawrf star would happen in three point six four hours, fast enough that Bones and the  _ Enterprise  _ wouldn’t realize he was gone, before it was over. 

Before he was with Spock. 

The ship slips through space quietly, and he let’s it, rests on the small bunk and closes his eyes, drifts into Spock’s embrace, the cool bright bondspace.

It is a tiny ship in the vast spaces of space, and it--and the softly smiling blue eyed man it carried--quickly was lost there.


	16. Chapter 16

**Epilogue: Never Parted**

 

He is sleeping. The heat is stronger now, and the ship is shaking as it sails on. He sleeps, lulled by the touch of his bondmate, a mind that wraps around him so completely neither can tell where they end and the other begins.

There is a sense of contentment, and the brilliant beauty of the mind he has loved, against logic and reason and sense. A mind he has loved with every fiber of his being, has loved enough to die for.

He remembers that moment Jim brought up, waved like a vow, a promise made what feels like a lifetime ago.

_ You could have died, Jim. And I-- _

_ “I didn’t, Spock. I was  _ fine.  _ Sweetheart, look.” _

_ Spock was shaking, furious, and it took Jim laughing into his ear, licking down his chest, nipping and murmuring nonsense promises before he finally relented, letting Kirk settle in his lap. _

_ “I--Jim, do not ask me to survive that. Do not ask me to watch you die.” _

_ Something crosses his face, and he smiles. Leans in and presses a gentle kiss against his lips. It’s chaste and loving and it makes Spock tremble as he clutches Jim closer. _

_ “Never, ashayam. Always and never parted and parting. What’s that mean, Spock?” Jim coaxes, and Spock shakes his head, nuzzles into his throat, lips pressed into the pulse that still beat, cool and fast under his skin. _

_ “Means we go together. You and me? We’re together. Always. Even in this.” Jim vowed, eyes shining like stars, before Spock kissed him. _

He never dared believe it.

The heat from the star is crumpling the ship now, and alarms wail. He wishes he could silence them. Let Jim sleep in peace. But this, too, has always been part of their lives. Screaming alarms and waking to each other and the vastness of space.

He curls tighter around Jim, finding him in the deep spaces of his mind, in tunnels built of white bulkheads and creeping purple moss. He curls against his side and Jim murmurs, tucks himself closer in his sleep.

Spock whispers,  _ I love you. Jim. T’hy’la. I love you. Always. I lov- _

 

~*~

 

The ship broke into nothing, a shower of light and sparks and stardust, and they drifted into it.

Together, two pieces of the same whole, and Jim laughed as the bondspace that had always been home brightened around them.

_ Spock. Spock, we’re home.  _ He twisted, looking at the glowing presence of his  _ t’hy’la.  _ Even here. Even now. He was steady.

Jim thought, he could build an eternity on something as solid and steady as Spock.

_ Indeed, ashaya.   _

He spun, a swirling nebula cloud, forever drifting through the place where he had always been at home, and Spock followed, streaks of starlight in the black.


End file.
